


Drive

by StarryyEyed



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, Falling In Love, Family, Forbidden Love, Gallavich, Gun Violence, Jealousy, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Oral Sex, Organized Crime, Rough Sex, Secret Relationship, Slow Burn, Slurs, Smut, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2019-06-03 03:17:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15148538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarryyEyed/pseuds/StarryyEyed
Summary: "I'm going to ask you one more time, Mick; and please spare me the bullshit. Who are you, and what exactly do you do?" Ian pressed sternly.Mickey took a deep breath, pausing for a long moment and gathering his thoughts. Involving Ian was clearly a mistake, feeling relentless guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. He was in love with Ian Gallagher, something he swore to himself would never happen as it was too dangerous; evidently, he broke his own promise. The brunet exhaled, chewing on the inside of his cheek before feeling Ian's glare nearly burning into his skin. Mickey nodded to himself, mentally preparing as he swiftly shifted the car into reverse, "I drive."





	1. Seize the Day

**Author's Note:**

> Quck backstory:  
> This idea came to me in a dream a while back. I've been trying to figure out how I wanted to get it all out, and I've finally found the perfect outlet! Please leave me your thoughts & feedback—there's always room for improvement. =)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Ian Gallagher took a long, much-needed drag of his cigarette, relishing the feeling of the smoke filling his lungs and easing his nerves. It was just nearing midnight on a Saturday night, and he was stuck working another double at the Fairy Tail. 

Although it was the norm for Ian to be spending his weekend there, his repetitive routine was beginning to get tiresome and lonely: school during the week, having to work every weekend and most nights at the club, working a second job the bank as a teller, and of course, fitting in time to study. His jam-packed schedule wasn't always easy or ideal, but it was necessary to make ends meet. Most importantly, it was temporary.

Ian shivered as he took another puff of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke into the crisp air. It suddenly occurred to him that the air was getting much cooler because summer was coming to an end. He wasn't quite ready to let go of the warm nights that would soon be replaced with the relentless polar vortex that always seemed never-ending in Chicago.

He shuddered at the thought, taking one last drag before tossing the cigarette onto the ground, suddenly noticing someone approaching him from out of the dark alleyway. As the mysterious man got closer, Ian's eyes slowly moved up along his muscular legs, taking in the visible outline of his sizable crotch from the way his pants hugged him, then moved his gaze to the man's face. He looked way too orderly to be mugger.

"What can I do for you?" Ian purred, making the assumption that he was just a prospective customer awaiting a lap dance. His intuition served him well as the man's brown eyes filled with lust.

"I'm sorry to bother you on your break," the attractive man apologized sheepishly, sweat beading down his forehead regardless of the brisk, autumn air, "I don't usually do this, but I was just walking by, and you caught my attention. I guess that's kind of weird? But, uh, I was wondering if you might be able to, um... I have twenty-five bucks, is that enough for a dance?"

Ian smirked, looking the man up and down hungrily. He had to admit that it was a bit strange for someone to randomly emerge from a dark alleyway, requesting a lap dance. Luckily his parents never cared enough to teach him not to talk to strangers, and this stranger looked wealthy enough to buy the club and his entire family in a single transaction. He was undeniably hot, too, almost like a mirage in the desert, which made it an easy decision not to turn him away.

"I'm flattered. What's your name, Sugar?"

The latter responded without skipping a beat, "Roderick, er, fuck. My name's Rod. I'm sorry, should I have given you a fake name?"

"You're fine," Ian chuckled, "I'm Curtis. You mentioned that you have twenty-five bucks?"

Rod nodded eagerly, swiftly pulling out his wallet to prove cash was hardly an issue for him, "I have as much as you need."

Ian licked his lips, refraining from shivering to maintain his suave appearance, "Twenty-five bucks will get you a dance to start. Ready to go inside?" 

"Inside?" Rod mumbled, shoving his bulky wallet back into his pocket, "Right. I meant, do we go in through this door, or..." Rod trailed off, nervously fidgeting with something at his side.

Ian glanced down, without delay, noticing Rod's wedding ring. He raised an eyebrow before locking eyes with the latter.

"First time here?" Ian probed, already sure of the answer.

Rod let out an uncomfortable, anxious laugh before quickly wiping the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead, "It's sort of my first time at a, well, you know, " Rod paused, searching for the correct words, "... _club_ of this sort."

"Ah. In that case, welcome to the Fairy Tail. I'll see to giving you an experience you won't ever forget," Ian responded confidently.

Rod's face turned a shade of crimson, Ian flashing a hellish grin in response. He invitingly extended his hand out to Rod, tempting him with a dance with the devil. Giving in to temptation, the latter accepted Ian's invitation and followed him inside, eager to get his money's worth and see if the redhead's seeming confidence was only a facade. Fortunately, Ian _always_ kept his promises.

* * *

"Can we please hit up McDonald's? I'm fucking starving. I came all this way, and during the goddamn witching hour might I add, to walk you home like the bomb ass friend that I am. What's a girl gotta do to get some hash browns?" Sam threw her hands up dramatically, "I'd seriously do just about anything right now except for sucking dick. Although, it would probably please Martha if I were into boys."

Ian sighed at the implication, "at least you have a mother. Also, I've told you a million times that I'm not eating that shit. I don't understand why you like it so much. It's like eating salty sludge."

"Hey, that salty sludge tastes good. Plus, it's cheap as shit," Sam retorted, carefully stepping over throw-up in the middle of the sidewalk, "ugh, fucking gross."

"They probably had McDonald's," Ian snorted as Sam glared at him through narrowed, green eyes, "and even if it does taste good, it'll probably kill you some day. I've heard that consuming a lot of fast food may even cause cancer."

Sam guffawed, running an irritated hand through her long, brown hair, and tossing it in front of her right shoulder, showcasing the sidecut on her left side, "You really think you're one to talk? You smoke cancer sticks every day!"

"It's different," Ian shrugged.

"Oh, fuck off, Gallagher. It most certainly is not. If anything, smoking is worse for you."

Ian blatantly ignored his best friend as he reached into the pocket of his baggy sweatpants to pull out a pack of cigarettes. Sam's jaw dropped at the redhead's deliberate action.

He slid a cigarette between his lips, "what? A cigarette a day keeps the doctor with pay," Ian tastelessly teased, earning an unamused sigh and middle finger from Sam. 

"Jackass," she grumbled before playfully shoving him. Ian snickered as he adjusted his sweatshirt and pulled up the hood over his beanie.

"As I was saying," Ian started up again before being cut off by Sam.

"Gee, I didn't realize I was being lectured by Eminem from 8 Mile."

"I bet he doesn't eat McDonald's."

"Bet he fucking does," Sam retorted, "shit, he's probably eating some chicken mcnuggets off of a stripper's titties right now."

Ian shook his head in amusement, "why must everything that leaves your mouth be so vulgar?"

"Have you forgotten where I work?"

"Working surrounded by a bunch of dudes in their early twenties at a mechanic shop may have some sort of influence behind it," Ian thought aloud, both laughing as they continued on their way, inevitably stopping at the closest McDonald's.

* * *

"Looks like you've got yourself a regular. He's pretty cute, too," Jared pointed out Rod sitting at the bar, eyeing Ian like a piece of meat; and Rod was _starving._

Ian smirked, "yeah, he spotted me outside on break last weekend. Name's Rod, mid-thirties, loaded, lives on the Northside. He's showed up every night this week so far, says I'm his muse or some shit. I dunno, something rich people say or whatever."

Jared swayed his hips to the beat of the music beside Ian in the cage, "damn. Where do I sign up?"

"Eh, I like him and all, but he's married and not entirely out yet. He comes here to be free, which I totally respect. I just don't like to play the part of the mistress," Ian sighed, locking eyes with his prey at the bar, "he says he wants to take care of me, you know, like sense of security and shit. Who knows, maybe I'll finally go from rags to riches."

"So what do you expect, that he'll wife you up and turn you into the male, Southside version of Cinderella? Bibbidi-bobbidi-Gingerella."

Ian rolled his eyes, grabbing onto the cage as he dipped low and slowly moved back up to be eye-level with Jared, "how long were you waiting to deliver that one?"

"Since the day we met, dude," Jared snorted, leaving the cage to go to break as the song ended, "for real though, take advantage of a good thing for once in your life. Seize the day!"

Ian shrugged, following Jared out of the cage. He nodded to Rod, holding up a finger to indicate he'd be right over, "I'm off early tonight. Maybe I _am_ seizing my opportunities and just didn't share that bit of information with you."

Jared guffawed, "as if, Alicia Silverstone. You tell me everything, and you're too chicken shit to talk to him outside of, 'so how's your day going?' and 'Want another dance?' Plus, he may be rich and hot as fuck, but he isn't the one."

"And how the fuck do you know that, douchebag?"

"Jared knows all; I'm like a magic-fucking-eight ball. Your eyes say yes-yes, but your heart says no-no. It's not rocket science, duh."

The redhead rolled his eyes and walked to the locker room with Jared, "full of fucking jokes tonight. You sound like Sam," Ian huffed, "I might surprise you, though. I actually am going out with him as soon as I clock out."

"Whatever you say, Gallagher. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm about to go get my dick sucked out back. Good luck with Rico Suave. Stay golden, ponyboy," Jared winked, grabbing a tank top from out of his locker and slamming it shut before shuffling over to the door to go on break.

Shaking his head in amusement, Ian grabbed his clothes out of his locker and changed with haste. He looked himself over in the smudged mirror, noticing the bags under his green eyes. Eventually approving of himself after staring in the mirror for a few moments, Ian strolled out of the locker room and spotted Rod waiting for him, his tab already closed with a crisp one-hundred dollar bill sitting on the bar table.

Rod was wearing a casual suit that looked more expensive than what one semester costed at Ian's college, a navy blue color with a white cotton button-up shirt and brown Tom Ford oxford style shoes. To top it off, his dirty blond, tousled hair pushed back made him look like a model from GQ magazine, with a body to back it up. He was very in shape for his age, able to easily conclude that he worked hard for his godlike appearance.

"You ready, Curtis?" Rod asked, flashing his pearly whites that practically glowed. Ian nodded, following the latter out of the club and into the waiting black Town Car.

"You have your own driver?" Ian asked, marveling at the sight of the city through the tinted windows, "I feel like I'm in the Godfather. Fuck, you're not in the mob or anything, are you?"

Rod snickered, "you think a man with a name like Roderick Newton is in the mafia?"

"Just checking," Ian chuckled, "I'm not used to being chauffeured around unless it's by public transportation. I mean, somewhat of a similar experience except one is less fancier than the other."

"You deserve to be chauffeured, wined and dined," Rod murmured, shifting his body a little closer to the redhead to reach for the ready-bottle of champagne under his seat, pouring each of them a glass, "I'll make sure you never need to use public transportation ever again, Curtis."

Ian sheepishly scratched his head and took a sip of his drink, feeling guilty for not revealing his real name sooner, "shit, I should tell you something before we go any further," he started, carefully watching Rod's facial expression as he proceeded with caution, "my name isn't actually Curtis, that's just my stage name. My real name is -"

"Ian Clayton Gallagher, younger brother to Fiona and Phillip, older brother to Debbie, Carl and Liam," Rod recited with ease, Ian furrowing his brow in response.

"Wait, how do you know all of that?"

"You think that I'm the type to make a purchase without doing my research first?" He asked, raising an eyebrow and taking a sip of champagne.

"Purchase?" Ian pressed, keeping his eyes locked on Rod's and taking a sip of his drink.

"What I meant was, I wanted to know a little bit about you before you and I got involved any further than a casual lap dance. See, a lot of guys only want me for my money and power. You're different, though. You earn your shit, just like me, and that's a great trait to have, Ian Gallagher," Rod took another sip, never moving his gaze from the redhead.

Ian's body felt electric when Rod's velvet voice spoke his name, the redhead biting his lip as he watched his date lick his lips, "so if you know who I am, why bother involving yourself with a broke, Southside nobody?"

"Because you're not a nobody. You've got this thing about you, I cant quite explain it, but you light up an entire room just by being there. So naturally I was drawn to you and had to have you; it's almost like it was magnetic or something."

The redhead felt himself melting into Rod's smooth words, glancing down at his left hand that was holding the champagne glass and instantly snapping back to reality, "you tell that to your wife, too?" Ian asked, taking a large sip of his champagne and finishing it.

Rod clicked his tongue, "she isn't really in the picture anymore. I mean, she is, but we're not happy."

"But you're still married," Ian challenged, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, legally. Divorce is a lot of time and paperwork."

"Does she know you're gay?" Ian probed, noticing Rod's body suddenly stiffen.

"No."

"So, you're married, still in the closet, and you think you have a leg stand on when it comes to invading my privacy?"

Rod remained rigid for a few more seconds before visibly relaxing, finishing off his glass and snickering, "you've got a mouth on you. I'd love to see what it can do."

"If you play your cards right, maybe you will," Ian leaned forward to place his empty glass in the cup holder, noticing Rod's growing bulge in his pants and keeping his eyes on the prize as he leaned back into his seat. All he could hear was Jared's stupid voice telling him to seize the day. Shutting up the voice in his head, Ian decided that was exactly what he would be doing.

* * *

Rod's cellphone rang, immediately waking him up and causing Ian to stir under the latter's arm. Rod peeped at the redhead to make sure he was asleep before slowly removing his arm and reaching for his phone. He sighed quietly, carefully getting out of bed and pulling on his boxer briefs before heading out onto the patio of their hotel room. He hit the answer button and brought the phone up to his ear, abruptly answering with, "what?"

"I just wanted to let you know that everything's all set. Picked up your guy from the heist and, as promised, brought him safely home. Now where the fuck's my fifteen grand at?" The gruff voice on the other line demanded.

"I'll wire it to you now. It was a pleasure doing business with you, Mickey. I'll be sure to let you know if any other jobs come up."

Rod abruptly disconnected the call, holding true to his promise by wiring the money over. He glanced up from his phone to see Ian sleeping peacefully in bed. Not wanting to disrupt his slumber, he quietly returned inside and crept back into bed, placing an arm around the redhead before letting sleep take him.


	2. My Hero?

"Are you going to tell me where you were last night, or are you going to just smile at your phone like an idiot all day?" Sam groused sitting behind the counter at the bank, eyeing the giddy-looking redhead like a hawk.

Ian suppressed a giggle before sliding his phone into his back pocket and joined Sam behind the counter, plopping down in the teller's seat beside her, "I'm sorry, what were you just saying?"

Sam glared at him through narrowed eyes, "earth to Ian Gallagher! Are you seeing someone and neglecting to tell me?"

"What are you talking about? If I was actually seeing someone, you'd be the first to know."

"Interesting," Sam mused with heavy sarcasm in her tone, "because that's a hickey I see there, unless you were punched in the neck..."

"Shit," Ian muttered, fumbling to pull out his phone and glance at the purple bruise through the reflection on the screen, "okay, just don't be all... _you_ about this, alright?"

"Yeah, peace and prosperity, whatever. Now spill," Sam pressed, dedicating her full attention to her best friend while there weren't any customers around. Ian grinned, giving Sam the implication that this was a doozy, "jesus, Ian. Who is he?"

"So, I sort of met him at the club. Well I guess you could say I met him out back in the alleyway..."

"Stop it right there! You met him in a goddamned alleyway? Yeah, 'cause that's how every love story begins. _Kids, I met your father in a creepy alleyway behind a club where stalkers and serial killers hang out_ \- "

"I literally just said not to be weird about this," Ian snapped.

"Well, shit! When you start a story off that way, I'm naturally going to be a bit skeptical."

"Samantha, language," their covering manager scolded from the financial wing down the hall.

Sam rolled her eyes, "Sorry, Jimothy. Won't happen again," turning back around, she faced Ian and slowly mouth the words, "It totally will."

"It's just Jim. How many times do we need to go over... fuck it," a defeated Jim muttered to himself, Sam raising a victorious eyebrow in response.

Ian shook his head before adjusting his emerald color dress shirt then continued with hesitation after shrugging nonchalantly, "His name is Rod."

"And..."

"And what?"

"And, aren't you going to tell me a little more about this mysterious Rod person?"

"He lives on the North Side, extremely sweet..."

"Hold up," Sam interrupted, "North Side equals rich as fuck. So he's making it rain on you in the club, I assume?"

Ian scoffed, "is that seriously what you're going to ask me? You just insinuated that he was a stalker/serial killer two minutes ago."

"Does he make it rain on you or not? Racks on racks on racks? Throwing cash, you know?" Sam pressed, reaching for the one dollar bills before hearing Jim clear his throat loudly. She slowly put the dollar stack down and huffed to herself, whispering, "fun-sucker."

"I hate you," Ian grumbled, "if you must know, yes, he's dished out a few dollars within the two weeks that we've been hanging out."

Her disappointment was suddenly replaced with a cheeky grin and slow nod of approval, "Word."

Ian rolled his eyes, suddenly feeling his phone begin to vibrate in his pocket. His stomach filled with butterflies as he knew exactly who was calling him.

"Now for the more important questions," Sam started, instantly shooting every butterfly down in Ian's stomach, "one, how old is he? Two, what does he do to earn the stacks he's tossing at you? And three, is he married?"

Ian sucked on his cheek, biting down hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of his blood. Sam caught on to her friend's caginess and folded her arms, giving him another look of disapproval.

"Is it that you don't know the answer to these questions, or do you not want to tell me because you know I'll freak the fuck out?"

"A little bit of both," Ian confessed, though, saved by a regular customer storming in.

"I can take you right here, sir," Sam offered with a sincere smile, turning her attitude completely around for the customer. She knew he was a tough cookie to crack, always rude to everyone he spoke with there, but she was determined to make him smile at least once even if he was a crabby, old man.

The short, portly customer huffed, practically tossing his bank card at Ian, "I don't trust women with my money; _especially_ not ones with partially shaved heads. Don't you know that makes you look like a ruffian? This young gentleman will do just fine."

Ian's jaw dropped, already feeling sorry for the guy as he knew Sam didn't respond well to that kind of behavior from anyone. He could practically feel the heat radiating off of her pale skin.

"Excuse me?" Sam raised her voice.

The brash customer ignored her and raised his voice to Ian, "are you retarded, son? Key in my account number so we can get this done before the year is over."

Before Sam could interject, Jim appeared from out of the financial wing, "is everything alright, sir?"

"No, everything is not alright. What kind of business allows a woman and a retard to be handling money? What kind of fucking idiocracy are we living in?"

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to lower your voice and refrain from using offensive language," Jim leveled with the man, setting off the customer even more.

The customer let out a sardonic laugh and threw his hands in the air, "You're all fucking idiots! All I'm trying to do is get my fucking money in my checking account transferred to my savings, and I can't even get professional service here! How disgusting."

"Actually, what's disgusting is your attitude and backwards perception of the world," a voice from behind the customer spoke up, Ian's heart instantly fluttering as he recognized the familiar voice.

The customer spun around to get in Rod's face, aggressively pointing a finger to his chest, "listen here, pal. This has nothing to do with you, so you can fuck right off!"

"It has everything to do with me. You're being an offensive, sexist, discriminatory and clearly uneducated swine to these fine folk who are only trying to help you. They are here to provide a service that is banking, nothing more nothing less. It's not 1848 like you seem to think it is, though you look like you're old enough to have lived back then," Rod spit back at him, shutting the customer up before continuing.

"Now, I suggest you get the hell out of here before trouble finds you when you least expect it."

"Are you threatening me?" The customer retorted.

Rod chuckled darkly to himself, adjusting the collar to his suit and stared into the customer's eyes as if he was a shark that tasted the slightest bit of blood, now ready to feast, "oh, heavens no. I'm not threatening you, see, I'm simply stating the fact that the world is an ugly, awful place, and cowards like you..." Rod tsked before pausing, lowering himself to the customer's face and holding his unblinking stare to him, "....cowards like you won't last a single _fuckin'_ day out there."

Everyone in the room, including the customer, remained silent. Ian felt his stomach flip and chills shooting down his spine, completely taken back by Rod's demeanor. In the short period of time that Ian had known him, Rod never showed any sense of aggression or hostility. In fact, he was the complete opposite, constantly showering the redhead in compliments and treating him on dates. Ian couldn't wrap his head around the situation, but continued to stare silently as the scene unfolded.

Rod sensed that he had frightened the customer enough, replacing his look of intimidation with a forced smile that looked utterly terrifying, "now, why don't you apologize to everyone here before you leave."

The flabbergasted customer only nodded slowly, swallowing hard before barely mumbling a, "sorry" under his breath. Ian watched as Rod held his gaze to the older man, staring until the customer backed away and shuffled nervously out of the bank. 

Once the customer disappeared from sight, Rod slowly moved his gaze to Ian's frightened face, his own face softening at the sight of the redhead's terror.

"Ian, I'm-"

"You're my fucking hero," Sam interrupted, clapping loudly along with Jim and the other staff members who had been nosing around. Ian remained still, trying to process what just happened.

"Thank you so much, sir," Jim placed a hand on Rod's arm, "he comes in here every now and then with an attitude and gives the tellers a hard time, but he's never that bad."

Rod's apologetic eyes remained on the redhead's for another moment before he shifted his gaze to Jim, "not a problem. I don't like to see people being treated the way that poor excuse of a man was treating your kind tellers."

"Dude, you're seriously the shit. That douchebag needed to be put in his place for far too long," Sam chimed in, nudging Ian's arm, "wasn't that awesome?"

Ian cleared his throat and turned to Sam, "yeah, um, cool," he muttered. He wanted to get to the bottom of Rod's behavior, aware that he wouldn't be able to focus at work without confronting the latter. Ian also wanted to know why Rod was at the bank in the first place, the thought causing him to abruptly stand up, "hey Jim, I'm not feeling very well today. Is it alright if I leave early?"

Sam furrowed her brow, suddenly replacing her look of speculation with gratitude as she waved a final goodbye to her hero leaving the bank unexpectedly, soon completely lost to view.

Ian narrowed his eyes, sensing something was off, but brushed it away once his manager nodded, "of course. We're not too busy, plus you never ask for time off. Everything alright?"

"Yeah, everything is fine. Just think I might have caught a bug or something."

"Stay away," Jim grimaced, slowly backing away with his index fingers crossing each other teasingly, "I haven't been sick in months, so, seriously go and get some rest. Feel better!"

"Thanks," Ian said as he went to grab his coat that was draped over the back of his seat, his coat suddenly snatched by an unconvinced Sam. She crossed her arms and shot a look of disapproval to her best friend. 

"I'm not stupid, Ian. I know you're not actually sick."

Ian attempted to rub his stomach, mustering up a groan, "trust me, I'm really not feeling well. I'll text you when I'm home, I promise."

Sam held her gaze to Ian's, narrowing her eyes before finally shrugging, "whatever. Just remember I'm here if you need me, and also know that I'm not buying the whole sick bullshit. The only reason I'm letting you off easy is because I know you're trying to leave early to see Mr. Mysterious Rod."

Ian let out a nervous chuckle, deciding she wasn't completely wrong, "guilty. I'll text you when I get home, okay?"

"Sounds good," Sam smiled halfheartedly and handed the redhead his coat. Ian reached for the coat, Sam unexpectedly pulling back before he could grab it, "oh, and Ian?"

"Yeah?" He asked, swallowing hard and trying to read her expression, hoping she wasn't going to probe any further.

"I hope things work out for you. You deserve to be happy; I mean that, Gallagher. And I'd love to meet him if you're serious about him."

Ian sucked on the inside of his cheek, "yeah, who knows..." he trailed off, deciding not to reveal who Rod was yet. He knew it was like rolling dice; Sam would either be happy to have met him since he was the one who put that rude customer in his place, or she would make sure that he felt her wrath for not telling her who he was right away. He knew it was almost always the latter possibility.

With that, Ian went with his gut and grabbed his coat, ending the conversation at that. He made his way outside only to find that Rod was no where to be found. 

Ian sighed heavily before reaching for a cigarette and lighter, the crisp, windy air making it more difficult to light it. The redhead cupped his hand around the cigarette and attempted to light it, suddenly coming to an abrupt halt before rounding the corner. There was what sounded like an argument in the alleyway around the corner, Ian pulling the cigarette from his mouth and taking a peek to see that it was Rod and the customer from the bank.

"Can you just leave me alone? I already apologized to the tellers, and I promised to never go back there! What more do you want from me?" The customer asked frantically.

Rod snickered and shoved the man against the brick wall, "I want you to disappear. When I say disappear, I mean completely vanish. You so much as show your face in Chicago ever again, I'll fucking end your life. Do I make myself clear?"

The older man nodded, fear bestowing upon his face.

"Good. I'll make a call for my guy to come and get you. He'll bring you to your house to get some of your belongings, then he's going to drop you off somewhere in Wisconsin."

"Why Wisconsin?" The customer questioned, resulting in Rod backhanding him in the face with force in response.

"Do not _ever_ question me, got it?"

"Sorry," the older man mumbled, spitting out blood and cautiously wiping his mouth with his hand.

Ian hadn't realize that he'd been standing there watching for a few moments before an all black Camaro suddenly roared toward him. Once the car passed by and turned to head toward the alleyway, he quickly stepped back, leaning against the wall and continued to listen as he caught his breath.

The engine of the car cut abruptly, Ian hearing the sound of the door opening and the sound of the older man grumbling profanities. As Ian was just about to peek around the corner, he heard the sound of a silenced gunshot. His stomach instantly churned, not wanting to look around the corner, but curiosity getting the best of him.

Ian covered his mouth with his hand, holding in a gasp as he saw Rod dragging the body of the customer into the backseat of the car. His heart began to pound out of his chest when the silence was suddenly broken.

"What the fuck, man? In broad-fuckin'-daylight?"

"You think anyone will say 'boo' to the sound of a gunshot in the South Side? Plus, there's nobody around." Rod answered matter-of-factly.

"Jesus," the other man muttered.

"This bastard treated Ian like shit and talked down to me. There's no room in this world for people like him," Rod snapped harshly, hearing a loud sigh from the other man with him.

"I don't know who the fuck Ian is, shit, I barely know who you are; but my job is to be the getaway driver, not to be the fuckin' hearse to the goddamned morgue, and definitely not to play Days of Our Lives with you."

"I already told you that I'd pay you handsomely for driving any casualties of mine, and I need the body gone. Think you can handle that?"

"No," the man spat out sarcastically, Ian feeling the thick tension between the two men from around the corner, "Jesus, Tony Soprano, I'm only fucking with you. Yeah, I can get my brothers to get rid of the body."

"Tony Sop..." Rod scoffed, "Do I look like I'm in the mafia?"

"I mean, not really, but you never know," The man took a pause before letting out a boisterous laugh.

"Do I seem like I'm in the joking kind of mood?" Rod asked blandly.

"Is that a rhetorical question, or would you like my honest answer?"

"Full of jokes," Rod sniffed, "just get it done. You're lucky that I like you, otherwise you and this sorry motherfucker would have a matching bullet hole wounds. "

"Whatever you say, man. You paying or what?"

"I'm getting to it. Once you take care of the body, then we'll talk cash."

"Fine, I want an extra forty percent as hazard pay, though."

"Deal. As always, it's a pleasure doing business with you, Mickey."

Ian immediately spun around and began to walk back toward the bank, pulling up the hood of his coat and facing the brick wall until the sound of the Camero sped by. The redhead waited a few more moments before turning around to head back in the direction of the alleyway as he lived a few blocks away. He felt sick to his stomach, wishing he never met Rod that night at the club. As his thoughts began to race in his mind, Ian was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a car beeping at him.

The startled readhead stopped to look, noticing the car pulling up next to the sidewalk and rolling down the window, Ian having a strong inkling who was in the car.

"Hey, babe! You're out early. Want a ride?" Rod asked, smiling as if nothing had happened.

Ian swallowed hard, "I'm alright. I'm actually on my way to meet my older brother for a drink," he lied, thankful that the latter seemed to buy it.

"Alright. Call me later, though. I'd love to spend the night with you at the Langham if you'd like."

"Yeah, sure. I'll call you later," Ian promised, unsure of what to say. Luckily, Rod didn't question the readhead's shortness. Instead, he nodded and waved before rolling up the window to his Tesla and drove off.

Once Rod was out of sight, Ian found a nearby trash can and began to dry heave into it. It was only a matter of time before he wouldn't be able to avoid Rod, now knowing what the man is capable of. Ian was too afraid to break things off with Rod, knowing that his safety was at risk, and he was aware that he couldn't tell anyone. For now, Ian would go home and contemplate his options, concluding he realistically only had one option; Ian knew he would have to stay with Rod...for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates will likely be bi-weekly. Thanks for reading! =)


	3. Sharp Dressed Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm late...
> 
> Alas, a new update. =)

"Everything okay, pumpkin?"

Ian quickly snapped back to reality upon hearing his older sister's concerned voice over the phone. He cleared his throat and nodded to himself, unsure if his answer would be meant to assure Fiona or himself.

"Yeah, I'm just really tired. I feel like I've been working my ass off lately with barely any room to breathe," he took a short pause before continuing, "so um, how's.. um.. what's his name, again?"

"Fuck off," Fiona retorted through a chuckle as she listened to Ian following suit, "His name is Gus. He's a really sweet guy; Lip even likes him."

"Well shit, if Lip likes him then he must really be a great guy," Ian spat out with more laughter, Fiona sighing unamused by the sarcasm. "Alright Fi, I gotta go," Ian said, peeking through the curtains in his small, shitty appartment and noticing an all black brand new Audi pulling into the parking lot.

"Okay. Thanks for checking in with me, we all miss you. Visit soon, alright?"

Ian sighed quietly to himself as he noticed Rod exiting the nice car in his notably expensive looking suit, holding a bouquet of flowers. The redhead shook his head in amusement and shuffled over to the door to buzz the man in, "I promise I will when I get, like, two whole seconds away from work. Love you."

Ian hung up the phone and quickly headed toward his tiny bathroom, looking himself over in disapproval. He hadn't expected any guests tonight, especially not Rod, but Rod detected in Ian's voice yesterday that something was wrong. The older man's judgement wasn't incorrect though, being that the redhead was still shaken up by what he witnessed, rocking his fairly normal life.

His green, bloodshot eyes were lacking their normal shine and luster, buried by dark circles. This was Ian's night off, and he planned to just sleep the night away for once to prepare for a full day of work and school tomorrow. The plan was deterred as soon as he heard a knock on the door, Ian's stomach instantly doing backflips at the sound.

Taking a deep breath, Ian ran a hand through his hair and headed to the door. He unlocked the deadbolt and locks, slowly opening the door to find a sharp dressed Rod standing before him with a grin spread across his face, holding the beautiful bouquet out to Ian.

"I could tell you had a rough day yesterday, and today you sounded distant as well. By the looks of it," Rod started, looking Ian up and down, "you may also be having a rough night. I want you to get dressed and ready, I'm taking you out to clear that pretty little head of yours from whatever stress is holding you back from me."

 _I'm stressed because I saw you off one of my regular customers at the bank yesterday,_ Ian thought to himself bluntly, but was too nervous of what the man was capable of to show any sort of fear. As if Ian weren't nervous enough, Rod took a step forward, pushing Ian a step back into his appartment. The older man walked Ian against the wall, swiftly kicking the door shut behind him. 

Ian's heart pounded, feeling truly frightened once Rod's eyes met his own, locking onto them with the same blank, expressionless look he gave to the customer at the bank; a hungry Lion ready to feed on its prey. Rod leaned his hands against the wall so that he was standing directly over Ian and closing in on him.

"Baby, I don't know what's gotten into you," Rod murmured, bringing his face closer to Ian's neck and sensually kissing it, "but I don't take _no_ very well." 

Ian swallowed hard, aware that he was failing miserably at trying to hide his dismay but doing his best to play along. It was difficult to accomplish when all he could see were the words "murderer" printed across Rod's forehead, "I know, I just.."

Rod trailed kisses from Ian's neck up to his ear lobe, "you just what, babe?"

Ian knew he couldn't tell him what he saw, so instead he'd settle on the unexpected actions that took place in the bank, "I just wasn't expecting you to lash out on that customer yesterday the way you did... it was a little scary to be honest."

Rod became abruptly stiff, suddenly sighing into Ian's ear and taking a step back out of the redhead's personal space. Once Ian noticeably relaxed a bit, the older man's face instantly became apologetic, "I know, I'm sorry. I honestly don't know what had gotten into me. I'm not usually aggressive like that, and I let my anger get the best of me. I just get very protective, and when there are vulgar people who are treating people that I care about with such disrespect, I struggle with keeping my cool."

Rod searched desperately within Ian's eyes for acceptance before continuing, "right after that, I drove off just to clear my head, wanting to put some distance between myself and the situation."

"Once I made it a few streets down, I changed my mind fairly quickly and turned around to head home, deciding I'd rather be home to have a drink and take a hot bath to relax instead of driving around like a hot-headed maniac. Then I saw you on the way back, and your face... your face looked so distraught, and I knew it was because of me. I just feel so awful for that, Ian. I really am sorry for acting that way and scaring you."

Ian instantly furrowed his brow, knowing for certain he saw Rod in the alleyway, but now second-guessing himself and his sanity as Rod's words sounded so sincere. The older man sensed Ian's confusion, instantly furrowing his brow, too.

"What's wrong?"

Ian held his gaze to the man, completely nonplussed as he was so sure that it was Rod in the alleyway. The redhead shot a glance over to the kitchen counter, noticing his medication bottle had a sticky note reading, "Fill me :)".

"Ian, what's going on?" Rod asked, voice sounding apprehensive.

The redhead closed his eyes and rubbed his face hard with the palm of his hand, realizing he had been missing his doses for nearly a week now. He was low on energy, nearly burnt out, unmedicated and clearly hallucinating, he decided. Ian removed his hand from his face and chuckled to himself. Rod shifted his weight and stared at the delusional-acting redhead in confusion.

"Now you're the one who's scaring me, baby. What's happening?"

"I'm just so exhausted," Ian laughed to himself, "I left work early yesterday as you saw, but I thought I saw you down the street in the back alleyway roughing up that looney customer from the bank."

Ian shook his head in amusement and glanced up to see Rod also chuckling, this assuring him that yesterday's occurrence in the alleyway was probably all in his head. It wouldn't be the first time that his mind played tricks on him when he would miss any of his regular doses.

"That's funny, I wish I was roughing up that son of a bitch," Rod laughed, suddenly replacing the humerus look on his face with concern, "maybe you do just need to relax tonight. I'll let you rest up so that tomorrow I can finally take you out, that is, if you're not still hating me. How does that sound?"

Ian smiled sheepishly, "I don't hate you. I'm sorry for giving off that vibe and reacting that way, I just have a lot going on in my head as you can now see."

"Don't even worry about it," Rod answered, rubbing Ian's shoulder comfortingly and giving off a warm smile, "get some sleep. I'll text you tomorrow for details and probably send someone to pick you up."

Ian smiled, mustering up every last ounce of energy to kiss the older man tenderly before pulling away when he had finally gassed out, "see you tomorrow."

Rod held his gaze to Ian's until he handed him the bouquet and left the appartment. Ian sighed in exhaustion, slowly making his way over to the curtains to watch as Rod walked over to the Audi. Once the man had finally pulled out of the parking lot and disappeared into the night, Ian put the flowers in a mug in place of a vase that he definitely didn't have. He nearly dragged himself to his bedroom and collapsed onto his bed, sleep taking him the moment his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Rod sharply turned down a sketchy looking street and saw the black Camaro waiting in the darkness, the older man pulling up to the car and rolling down the window. The other driver immediately followed suit, a thick cloud of smoke escaping from the Camaro and into Rod's face.

"Did you guys take care of the body yet?" Rod asked, staring intently at Mickey who was in the midst of taking a long drag of his blunt.

"Not yet. These two dipshits will get it done tonight. What exactly do you want?" Mickey asked while exhaling the smoke.

Rod turned his gaze to the other men, sighing at the sight but shrugging his doubtful thoughts away as he trusted Mickey thus far.

"Good. Need you to make it look like a suicide. He has a bullet in his brain, so make it look like he did it to himself. Am I clear?"

"We'll get it done," one of Mickey's brothers spoke up from the passenger seat while the other brother in the backseat nodded in agreement.

"See, I told you. They're dipshits, but they do the job," Mickey assured Rod, pointing in the backseat, "this big douchey looking one is Tony, and the scrawny one next to me is Iggy. I've got two other brothers, but they're away on... _business_ until next week."

Rod nodded, raising his hand up to the Iggy and Tony in apparent disinterest, but uttered a polite, "nice to meet you."

"We'll plant him in his own place and give you a call once it's done," Iggy confirmed.

Rod nodded and pulled out his phone to show proof of payment on the way. Mickey smirked and exhaled the smoke out of his nostrils, more than pleased with all of the following zeroes in the payment, "now I'm the one who can say that it's been a pleasure doing business with you."

Rod ignored him and retracted his phone, "you get half now, then the other half once I get the call. Thanks again, Mickey."

"Just remember this is a one-off situation, Rico Suave. Only driving jobs from now on, or else you can find someone else."

Rod narrowed his eyes, "you really like to push my buttons."

Mickey grinned in response as he began to roll up the window, the faint sound of his brothers' laughter soon disappearing as the Camaro peeled out and drove off out of sight.

The older man exhaled in exhaustion and rolled up his window, suddenly speding off into the night and not feeling bad about what he had done even in the slightest.

* * *

The next day Ian brought a change of clothes in a backpack with him to the bank as his shift started immediately after his classes ended, having very little time between leaving class and arriving to work on time. He rushed into work, relieved to see Sam in the teller's seat and not Gary, their other co-worker who usually worked mid-days.

"Rough day?" Sam asked as she watched Ian practically running to the bathroom to change. 

He stopped at the door to give her a look of distress and pure exhaustion, then pulled the door open and shuffled into the bathroom. Sam shook her head and took on the last customer in line to finally kill what was left of the afternoon rush.

Ian appeared from the bathroom in under five minutes and sat down in the teller's seat beside Sam.

"That may very well be record time, Gallagher," Sam chuckled, glancing down at her wristwatch and pointing to it with her freehand, "under three minutes!"

Ian emitted a loud sigh and plopped his body down over the desk, mumbling into his arms, "I'm dead."

"You're not dead. In fact, you're very much alive. Those dark bags under your eyes are proof of that."

"Not in the mood," Ian muttered, suddenly sitting up as he heard the bank doors open. 

Two police officers stepped forward, Sam immediately throwing her hands up in surrender, "it was all the ginger kid next to me. I had nothing to do with it, I swear!"

One of the police officers sighed showing clear unamusement, "this is not the time, Samantha."

"Sorry, dad," Sam mumbled, sensing an uneasy vibe from her father, "what's going on?"

The police officer held up a photograph of an older man to Ian and Sam, both of them squinting at the picture. As they continued to stare at the photo trying to determine what they were looking at, Jim suddenly appeared from out of the financial wing to greet the officers.

"Hello, officers. Is everything alright?" Jim asked.

"I'm Officer Alan Grady and this is my partner, who I'm sure you all know, Officer Tony Markovich," Sam's father introduced before showing the photograph to Jim, "do you recognize this gentleman?"

Jim peered at the photo for about twenty seconds before nodding, "yes, that's Jerry Lutz. He was just in here a few days ago. He's a regular customer and always gives the tellers a hard time. As a matter of fact, there was another gentleman in here the other day who actually told him off pretty good from what I remember."

Officer Grady glanced over at his daughter, Ian's heart instantly dropping as he knew something was wrong.

"Would you be able to come to the station and answer a few questions for us this afternoon?" Officer Grady asked, handing Jim a card before glancing over at Ian and Sam once more.

"Yeah, sure. I can go in fifteen minutes when my boss returns from lunch if that's easier?" Jim asked.

"What happened to him?" Ian interjected, all eyes suddenly on the redhead.

"His daughter found him dead late last night in his appartment building," Tony answered, Ian immediately feeling sick to his stomach, "suicide."

Sam's face completely dropped, leaning back into her chair. Officer Grady shot a warning look to Tony before speaking up.

"His daughter said that Jerry needed to go to the bank before he was planning to stop by her place, and as you can guess, never showed up. We just need to follow protocol with questioning. I also will need some more information regarding the altercation that you just mentioned."

Jim nodded understandably, Ian once again interjecting, "do Sam and I need to go in for questioning, too?"

Officer Grady quickly furrowed his brow, a look of suspicion waving over his face, "we'll keep in touch. That is unless you know something that we don't, of course."

"No," Ian answered almost too quickly.

Officer Grady shot a glance to Tony and scratched his head before leaning closer to the redhead and handed him his business card, "well if you know anything, give us a call."

Ian nodded, moving his gaze from Sam's dad to Tony. Tony pursed his lips, giving the redhead an apologetic look before nodding to Jim and exiting the building. Officer Grady stared at Ian for a few more seconds, suddenly giving off a faint smile and followed Tony out of the building. Once the two officers were out of sight, Sam turned in her chair to face Ian, dropping her jaw nearly to the floor.

"Holy shit, that's so awful. He was such a crabby old man, but I never would have thought he'd do that. The poor guy."

Ian felt himself drowning in his thoughts, not being able to help but wonder if Rod was really telling the truth or not. Ian was aware that his sanity and better judgement may not have always been one hundred percent there, but he knew for certain that something just wasn't right. A loud customer walking into the bank deterred his thoughts for the moment, though, he was wishing for this day to just end already. Unfortunately, he still had a very long night ahead of him at the club.


	4. Shit Happens

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who is still reading/is subscribed, I am so sorry for the delay in updates. I just recently bought a house, and it has been hectic to say the least. This story has NOT been abandoned. I am planning to update sooner than months at a time from now on... Alas, I give you chapter 4!

"Take West 32nd and floor it."

Mickey rolled his eyes and responded with a gruff, "I know," before gripping the steering wheel tight, leaning back into his seat and gassing it hard. 

He was exhausted from driving all hours of the night, sighing faintly as he noticed the sun beginning to rise. As a result, Mickey's irritibilty was much more intense than usual. It also didn't help that his run this morning seemed to be never-ending, having everything to do with the client being a rude, royal pain in the ass, backseat driver.

"You sure you're going the right way, guy?" The client asked impatiently.

Mickey rolled his eyes again before peeking at the man who appeared to be no more than twenty in the backseat through the rearview mirror. His stomach immediately turned once he caught a glimpse of the client's bloodstained dress shirt and face.

Although that sometimes made Mickey squeamish, depending on the situation, it wasn't an unusual sight to see someone sitting in his back seat who was escaping from an implied murder. Most of the time, his clients were highly wanted criminal masterminds escaping a heist— meaning he generally worked for people who were powerful, intelligent and able to afford his services.

He'd even occasionally find a mobster in his back seat, which he was able to determine after he'd bring the client to the desired destination by googling them per their obvious indications that they were a mafioso. Those were the clients who were calm and collected. They were always dressing to the nines and flaunting their expensive suits, seemingly striving to look like some half-assed version of Don Vito Corleone. 

Mickey found that almost comical, but the humor would soon be replaced with blunt realization that the mob is still very relevant in Chicago these days.

Among other sketchy things that he'd see on the job, including his current client in the back of his Camaro looking like a twelve-year-old boy, Mickey never asked questions nor made conversation with the clients unless spoken to first. Conversation wasn't his style, and he understood the reasoning for the client's needed getaway wasn't any of his business, especially being aware that these clients were not Average Joes mindlessly robbing the Kash and Grab. They were filthy rich, intelligent, high society pricks who didn't trust the 'unworthy' to do their dirty work for them. Regardless of who the client was or how old they were, Mickey kept his mouth shut and did exactly what he was paid to do; drive.

"Jesus, did you hear me? I said fucking West 32nd," the young man scowled, turning his head to glance out the window.

It took everything inside of him not to pull his gun on the younger man, but Mickey kept things professional by sucking up his pride and brushing it off as usual. His job unfortunately did not include killing the client, and he needed the cash.

"Hey, asshole! Are you deaf? I said goddamned West 32nd."

He was really testing Mickey's patience now. The brunet clenched his jaw and gripped the wheel even tighter, quickly approaching a side street as he zoomed forward, showing no sign of slowing down.

The sound of the Camaro's exhaust roared ferociously as his speed began to increase. Once his speedometer reflected sixty-five miles per hour, Mickey glanced at the younger man in the backseat through his rearview mirror and chuckled darkly once noticing the client's bright blue eyes flashing a hint of fear due to his reckless driving.

As the client inhaled, indicating he was about to speak again, something inside of Mickey snapped. Although his job and life were both on the line, his exhaustion and intensified aggravation with the younger man had pushed him over the edge. 

He unexpectedly slammed his foot down on the brake and cut the wheel sharp to turn down the side street. The client instantly let out a ridiculous-sounding scream, Mickey simultaneously laughing at the man's terrified response as he smoothly drifted into his turn.

Once Mickey completed the turn and gained back full control over the Camarao, his laughter started to dwindle down as he suddenly smelled something rancid. He furrowed his brow before turning his body to face the backseat only to find the client sitting stiff as a board.

"You've gotta be fucking shitting me," Mickey scowled as realization sunk in that the client actually defecated in his backseat. 

Mickey then raised an eyebrow in amusement and snickered to himself as the client began to catch his breath, "you get it? _Shitting_ me? Well, I guess it would be you doing the shitting in this instance," Mickey chuckled darkly before turning back around to face the road.

"This... This is coming out of your payment," the client responded feebly, sitting uncomfortably in his own shit and slowly moving his hand to roll down the window.

"Ay, you deduct anything from my pay and I tell your buddies that I made you shit yourself," Mickey retorted.

"Excuse me?" The client guffawed, "you think you can talk to me that way? I know who the fuck you are, Mr. Milkovich," the younger man gritted through his teeth.

"You're a nobody. You're just a getaway driver with no social status and no pertinent reason to live. In fact, you're only a getaway driver because the wealthy choose to provide you with income. You're a hoodrat, a loser, and a South Side piece of trash who _still_ can't escape the inevitable truth that you'll never amount to anything else. Why would anyone ever listen to you?"

Mickey sniffed, unable to keep a straight face as he smirked to himself. Any sort of restraint and willpower to bite his tongue was now entirely out the window along with the client's dignity. He glanced at the younger man through the rearview mirror, then back to the road before letting out a, "huh."

"Huh, what?" The client spit back.

"Oh, nothing. Was just thinking about..." Mickey trailed off, suddenly blocking one nostril with his finger while inhaling dramatically, "it's about that time for you, is it not? You usually buy from my brother Iggy, but he said he missed ya last week..."

Mickey's shit eating grin grew even wider as the client stared blankly at him and said nothing, "oh, shit, is that supposed to be a secret? I mean, with you in the midst of becoming the VP of your daddy's company and all, then I would assume so. Actually, let me correct myself here, in the midst of becoming the _president_ seeing how I just picked you up from offing him, correct?"

The client's demeanor instantly shifted, "I don't know what you're talking about."

Mickey snickered under his breath before pulling the car over and parking it next to a rundown gas station. He turned around to look at the pathetic young man in the back, which he decided was truly satisfying to see such vulnerability emitting from the younger man who claimed to be so powerful, yet was nothing but a bratty, overpriviledged prick who clearly wasn't used to not getting his way.

Mickey intently held his gaze to the kid for a moment before reaching for a cigarette from the center console, lighting it up and blowing a cloud of smoke into the client's face, "I want you to understand something, kid; I know _a lot_ of things. I learn quickly, remember shit that sometimes is or isn't relevant, and I can read people well. So, most importantly, I know _you_ without actually knowing you. You're an easy read."

"Whatever you think you know is probably a crock of shit," the client retorted defensively.

Mickey snickered as he took another puff and exhaled the smoke, "I may be a South Side piece of trash, but I'm not stupid. And I sure as shit ain't no overpriviledged rich kid who gets everything he wants and cries when mommy and daddy tell me no."

The client swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes, "you and me, we aren't so different."

"How'd ya figure?" Mickey asked, taking another puff.

"We both get what we want," the client responded softly, "and from how _I_ can read _you,_ it appears that we both have similar interests."

Mickey narrowed his eyes at the younger man, "you know fuck all about me, kid."

"I know you're _preferences,_ and I could really use a good fucking right now," the younger man offered, though, Mickey responded with roaring laughter.

"Jesus Christ," Mickey muttered through his laughter before continuing, "A, you're not my type. B, that's probably the worst come-on I've ever heard. C, you're covered in blood, and I'm _definitely_ not into that weird kinda shit. And D, you just shit your pants because of my driving. What the fuck makes you think you could even handle me?" Mickey teased, taking another drag from his cigarette and flicking it out the window.

"Well what the fuck is your type, asshole?"

Mickey turned back around to face forward and started the car. He didn't really know the answer to the question, mostly because he had never been asked that before. Mickey wasn't entirely out to the world aside from his immediate family, and when he did hook up with guys, it was never anything serious. 

His brothers, aside from Iggy, were either married or had girlfriends. Though he'd never admit it to anyone, Mickey found that he was lonely and envied his brothers. He didn't quite know how to be in a relationship or how to love simply because it was difficult for him to let his guard down and trust people who weren't blood-related; he was damaged, and he hated that about himself more than anything.

The brunet took a long pause before shrugging and answering, "guess I like redheads."

"Blond is pretty close," the client rebutted desperately.

"Not close enough," Mickey chuckled as he started to shift the car into drive.

The most awkward conversation Mickey had ever endured was thankfully interrupted by the sound of police sirens approaching from off in the distance. He glanced over his shoulder and saw the red and blues getting closer.

"Fucking A," Mickey muttered under his breath after regret waved over him for taking a detour, "you might want to buckle up."

"What do you...fuck!" 

The Camaro instantly took off leaving the client unable to finish his sentence. Mickey sped off like a bat out of hell, luckily still early enough to beat city traffic. His driving may have been fast, but it was controlled with apparent professionalism. After a few turns that left the client convinced this would be his last few moments of life, he scrambled to pull himself into the front seat beside Mickey.

"The fuck're you doing?" Mickey yelled, not expecting to see the younger man now beside him in his front seat.

"I'm not dying in the back of a shitty Camaro!"

"Shitty Camaro? Fuck you!" Mickey retorted as he continued to speed off away from the cops, which eventually was a success after much effort.

Mickey finally made it to an abandoned building where the client requested he be brought, and let the younger man out.

The client stopped for a moment before turning back to Mickey and tapping on the glass window. With a tired sigh, Mickey rolled down the window to appease the latter.

"So, were you some sort of Nascar driver in another life?"

Mickey chuckled, "not quite Nascar, but I did used to race back in the day."

The client smiled softly before nodding and pulled out a pen from his breast pocket on his dress shirt. He reached for Mickey's hand, the brunet allowing the younger man to scribble what looked like a phone number on his palm.

"If you're ever in the neighborhood, shoot me a text."

Mickey glanced down at his palm before pulling away from the client, "already told you, not my type. See ya later, kid."

The younger man shook his head in amusement as he watched Mickey grin before peeling out of the dirt road leading to the abandoned building. 

The brunet exhaled in relief once the client was finally out of sight, but his relief came to an abrupt end as soon as his business cellphone rang. Mickey cursed under his breath and answered immediately.

"Hello?"

"Hey Mickey," a familiar voice answered on the other end.

"What's going on, Rod?"

"Just wanted to take the time to thank you and your brothers for your help the other night. You did an excellent job."

Mickey rolled his eyes, "we both know that time is money. What do you really want?"

"I have a job for you tonight," Rod answered vaguely, "and it's going to be a big one."


	5. Mutual Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger Warning*
> 
> Brief mention of abuse in this chapter.

"How was your trip?" Mickey asked as he walked into the kitchen and sat down beside Iggy.

"Awful. The sketchy guy we were picking up from didn't show, so Joey and I ended up in East Bumfuck, USA looking for him. Nobody stands up a Milkovich," Jamie responded, rinsing his hands in the kitchen sink before tossing the dish rag to Iggy, "I cooked. You wash, asswipe."

Iggy rolled his eyes and emitted a heavy sigh before getting up from his seat at the table. He grabbed the dish rag from Jamie's hands and began washing, periodically sighing as he washed.

"You find him?" Mickey asked, glancing down at his phone to see he had two missed calls and a voicemail.

"Duh," Joey responded, taking Iggy's seat beside Mickey, "Jamie gave him the beatdown of his life. He won't be fucking with anyone else anytime soon."

Mickey nodded in approval, well aware his brothers wouldn't go down without a fight. 

All of them, with the exception of their sister, worked under the same employer, Marco, but all doing different jobs. Mickey was a getaway driver, Iggy and Joey moved drugs while Jamie and Tony did miscellaneous jobs and "collected" what was owed to Marco— they were without a doubt the muscle of the group. And though Mickey was the youngest Milkovich brother, he always called the shots. His brothers knew not to fuck with him as he was not a force to be reckoned with, and he _always_ had a plan.

"Good," Mickey promptly answered, "where's Tony?"

"Picking up Mandy from that douchebag's house, I think," Joey answered while shaking his head in disapproval. Mickey exhaled before following suit.

"How many fucking times do we need to tell her to stay away from that piece of shit?" Mickey asked with disgust in his voice as he stood up, "I swear to Christ, if she shows up here again with a single fucking bruise or scratch anywhere on her, I will personally skin Kenyatta alive."

"Agreed," Jamie answered.

Mickey brought the heel of his hands to his eyes and rubbed vigorously, worried about his sister and stressed about the trouble he got himself into by taking that detour with his client this morning, nearly getting caught by the cops. His boss reamed him a new asshole, finding out about it by listening to police scanners and easily able to conclude that they were referring to Mickey's black Camaro driving recklessly on West 32nd.

With that, Mickey let out a heavy sigh, "be right back," he muttered as he brushed past Jamie to make his way into the bathroom to listen to the voicemail. 

To his complete surprise, the voicemail was not from his boss, nor were the missed calls. He furrowed his brow when the number wasn't one he recognized. Now intrigued, he pressed play on the voicemail and brought the phone up to his ear, soon hearing a male's voice with a thick French accent speaking on the message.

"You don't know me, but I know you. I need you for a job as soon as possible. It's urgent. Call me back."

The voicemail ended abruptly, Mickey's brow remaining furrowed as he had no idea who it was. The voice wasn't familiar, and it was strange that the man didn't leave a name or any kind of contact information, nor relayed how he was referred.

Something felt off about the voicemail, and Mickey very rarely felt uneasy like this about his job. By now, he was used to everything that his job entailed, including the danger of it. Being a getaway driver was not an easy job, but that was one of the reasons why Mickey loved it so much. He loved the challenge and understood that a guy such as himself would never feel exactly fulfilled working at an office in a cubicle every day; he craved the thrill that his job supplied. Plus, he loved to drive. Therefore, being a getaway driver was perfect for him.

Mickey paused for a moment, contemplating calling the number before finally deciding to press dial. The phone rang for what seemed like an eternity, though, it had only been about fifteen seconds or so. As Mickey was about to disconnect the call, someone finally answered.

"Allo?" A woman with a French accent answered, Mickey immediately regretting calling back the number.

"Hi. You just called my phone?"

"Oui, er _yes._ une minute s'il vous plait, monsieur," the French woman responded before quickly putting Mickey on hold.

"The fuck," Mickey muttered under his breath in confusion as the phone emitted soft classical music.

The brunet nearly jumped out of his skin when he suddenly heard banging on the bathroom door.

"Mick, you almost done? Gotta take a shit!" Iggy yelled from behind the closed door.

Mickey inhaled in frustration, bringing his free hand up to his temple and gently rubbing to attempt alleviating his aggravation.

"Yeah, almost done."

"Hurry up. Tony just called and said he's almost back with Mandy... He says she doesn't look so good."

"Fucking A," Mickey cursed under his breath before responding to his brother, "give me five minutes, I'll be right out."

As if Mickey didn't have enough going on at the moment, his phone vibrated indicating he had a text message. He quickly removed the phone from his ear anticipating his impending doom as he assumed it was from his boss, but again to his surprise, it was not his boss.

**Rod** (8:53 PM): We're ready. A little earlier than planned - Sorry. Be here in 30 min. Make sure you aren't a second late.

**Mickey** (8:53 PM): A little? Only 3 hours earlier than what you told me this morning.. Def not early..

**Rod** (8:53 PM): Need the address? Will u be here?

**Mickey** (8:54 PM): I'm good. I'll be there soon 

"Mickey," a man with a French accent answered on the other line, the brunet instantly scrambling to bring the phone back up to his ear.

"Yeah, hi. You called me a few minutes ago?"

"Oui. Word is you provide a service that I am in serious need of."

"Depends. What kind of service do you need, and do you have the cash for it?"

The French man let out a boisterous laugh on the other line before answering, "smart man. Always be sure the client is willing to pay before agreeing to anything. I knew you would be a good fit."

Mickey remained silent, unsure how to answer as the man on the other line had a strong voice that _almost_ intimidated him. But Milkoviches stand down to no one, so he broke the silence, "so what can I do for you?"

"It seems that we have a mutual friend. Mr. Roderick Newton is what he commonly goes by."

The brunet swallowed hard, trying to quickly come up with a lie as his clients' names were considered confidential information, and he wasn't allowed to talk about them to anyone else. He also wasn't about to snitch on anyone either; it wasn't in his blood to do so.

"Name doesn't ring a bell. Speaking of names, who am I speaking to right now?"

"Ah, fantastique. I like that you keep your business private; it makes it easier to trust you," the man responded, taking a moment to loudly sip his drink before continuing, "my name is Lucien Dubois, but you can call me Luke." 

"Arlight, Luke. You've got my attention, but state your case quickly. I've got somewhere to be in about twenty minutes."

"My ask is simple: Bring me Rod," Luke stated bluntly, taking a pause to see if Mickey had a response ready. As always, he did.

"I already told you, I don't know who you're talking about. I think you might have the wrong number."

"If you hang up on me, I will lose my fucking shit," Luke snapped with intimidation behind his voice, taking a moment to compose himself before speaking again, "I apologize for getting angry. You see, I am a man of great power. And with great power comes great responsiblity."

Mickey snorted, "okay then, Peter Parker," he muttered under his breat.

"Who?" Luke asked.

Mickey held in a small chuckle before reining in the conversation, "look, I get you're upset, but I really don't know who the fuck you're talking about. I wish I did so I could help you out." 

There was a brief silence between the two men for a moment before Luke finally gave in, "very well. If you decide you change your mind, give me a call. I know that he's been reaching out to you for business lately, so it seems that you're the key to get him to me. I would do it myself, but I need to be as inconspicuous as possible right now. Too much heat on me, and I'd prefer to remain ice-cold."

"Like I said, I'm really sorry that I don't know who you're talking about. Let me know if you need anything else in the future."

"Oh, I intend to," Luke answered before disconnecting the call.

Mickey didn't move a muscle, still holding the phone up to his ear and staring at himself in the bathroom mirror. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of war he had just gotten himself into. With that, he finally relaxed his rigid posture and opened the bathroom door to find Iggy waiting on the other side with his arms crossed.

"That was longer than five minutes, dickhead."

"Something came up. Gotta head out... Which reminds me; when I get back, Kenyatta better be at kitchen table tied the fuck up. We need to teach him that you do _not_ fuck with a Milkovich and get away with it."

* * *

Ian locked eyes with a nervous looking older man as he glided toward him, his body matching the rhythm of the beat the entire time. The older man swallowed hard, never moving his eyes away from Ian's even with the distraction of the strobed lights and other dancers in the club.

"Twenty-five bucks will get you a dance," Ian purred as he danced sensually in front of the man.

Before the older man could respond, Ian felt a tap on his shoulder. Ian spun around to find Rod standing behind him, following his glare to the nervous man. 

Ian shook his head in amusement and turned back to Rod, "I thought you were working tonight?" Ian asked, keeping his body moving to avoid getting scolded by his manager.

"Change of plans. Grab your clothes and come with me. I just spoke with your manager, and he thinks you have a family emergency that needs tending to," Rod demanded, his usual softness around the redhead completely gone.

Ian furrowed his brow and stopped moving, "is everything okay? Is my family okay?"

"Your family is fine. I'll explain more in the car. Now, please get moving," Rod slightly softened his tone, Ian noticing the fear in Rod's eyes, suddenly feeling uneasy.

Ian nodded and did as he was told, changing into his clothes faster than he thought was possible. As soon as he was out of the locker room, he spotted Rod waiting by the exit, and immediately left the club to head towards the already running Town Car.

Once inside of the car, Ian moved his attention to Rod, "what's going on?"

"I need to leave town for a little bit. To keep things short, there's a very bad man who's looking for me, and I need to make sure my presence is hidden while he's here in town searching for me."

"What? What do you mean? Who's looking for you?" Ian asked with concern in his voice, "do you want me to come with you?"

"I don't want to involve you in this mess any more than you may already be. I'll only be gone for two weeks, and then I'll be back for you."

"I don't understand... What did you do, Rod?" Ian asked, concern transitioning into suspicion.

"I haven't done anything, I just need to make sure I -"

"Bullshit," Ian interjected.

Rod stared helplessly into Ian's eyes before reaching for the redhead's hands, "Ian, I need you to trust me. I care so much about you, and just want to ensure you're safe."

Ian stared back at the older man, unsure of his feelings. He definitely had no where near the same type of feelings that Rod had for him, but he still cared enough to worry about the man. He took a deep breath and nodded.

"What do you need me to do?" 

"I need you to just keep living as if nothing is happening. I don't want to draw any attention to you, so I believe it is best if you just maintain your normal life until I give you word otherwise. You know, blend in."

Ian nodded, "I can do that."

Rod struggled to smile, "I know you can."

The sound of Rod's cellphone ringing made the older man jump, immediately pulling away from Ian and answering the phone.

"Is it done?" Rod asked frantically.

"It's done," Mickey confirmed, "your guy said he got the hard drive and will meet you at the safe house. Just dropped him off. Where are you?"

"Thank Christ," Rod said in relief, "I'm almost there. Be careful. That French bastard is dangerous."

"Don't worry about me," Mickey answered confidently.

Rod nodded to himself and responded, "After you bring me to the safe house, I have another job for you."

"You serious? I have to get home to kick the shit out of my sister's chick-beating boyfriend."

Rod disregarded Mickey, "I need you to keep an eye on Ian while I'm gone. Can you do that?"

Ian narrowed his eyes, "are you fucking serious right now?"

Ignoring the readhead, Rod spoke into the phone, "you there?"

Mickey sighed, "I'm not a fuckin' babysitter, man. You don't have any Arnold Schwarzenegger type of dudes to watch over your little boyfriend while you're away?"

"If you can't do it, maybe I'll just look into giving my business elsewhere."

Mickey paused before sighing again, "Jesus Christ, alright. I'll do it. Well, maybe I'll have Tony and Jamie keep an eye on him since they're into that kind of shit and what not."

"Perfect. Thank you, Mickey. As always, it's a -"

"Yeah, yeah. It's a pleasure and shit," Mickey cut him off before disconnecting the call.

Rod lowered the phone from his ear, feeling Ian's death glare piercing his soul.

"I told you, I want you to be safe. If that means hiring someone to watch over you, then that's what I'm going to do."

"I'm perfectly capable of handling myself," Ian shot back, "in fact.." Ian said, moving to find visibility of the driver. Once he caught a glimpse, he raised his voice, "driver! Could you please pull over to let me out?"

"Arthur, don't stop," Rod ordered, the driver glancing back at the two in the backseat.

"Very well, sir."

"Not _very well,"_ Ian muttered before crossing his arms and turning his body to the window.

Rod ran a hand through his hair in aggravation, contemplating the right things to say before finally formulating a response.

"Please don't be upset, Ian. This guy that I'm running from his very powerful, and he's ruthless. If he ever found out about you..."

Ian bit, slowly turning his gaze from the window onto Rod, "if he ever found out about me," he pressed.

"I just... I don't even want to think about what he'd do."

Ian sensed Rod's genuine fear and concern in his voice, staring at the man a few more moments before closing his eyes and nodding in defeat.

"Fine," Ian agreed, "what's his name?"

"Who?" 

"My glorified babysitter," Ian responded with heavy sarcasm in his voice.

"His name is Mickey. He'll be over to meet with you in the morning."


	6. Calm Before the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *TW*
> 
> As a heads up, this chapter includes implications of abuse and depression - nothing too out of hand or graphic, though.
> 
> Also, I hope you all had a Happy Halloween. xox

Ian stuffed his hands into the pockets of his gray colored pea coat, shivering as he stood outside of his appartment building and watching his breath escape from out of his mouth into the brisk autumn air. He gazed off in the distance, marveling at the colors of the sky as the sun began to rise. It was strangely quiet this morning; no sounds of sirens or cars beeping. No usual city hustle and bustle. Just a momentary peaceful silence and a beautiful sky view before him as the city was still evidently sleeping. 

The silence was almost eerie to him as it was completely out of the norm — like a calm before the storm that was inevitably coming full speed ahead. Rod had assured him that everything was going to be fine, but Ian knew better than to believe that. The redhead was aware that his boyfriend was in some sort of danger, but he was also _well aware_ how dangerous his boyfriend actually was.

Ian shivered at the thought as the bitter wind brushed fiercely against his face, turning his cheeks a rosy red in reaction to the cold. He quickly spun around in the opposite direction of the wind just in time to spot Rod emerging from the appartment building.

Rod shuffled out of the building, nervously looking around at his surroundings before feeling assurance that they were temporarily safe. He placed his hands that were covered by leather gloves onto Ian's pink cheeks and stared into the redhead's eyes with apparent sadness in his own.

"Will you at least text me?" Ian immediately asked, suddenly hating himself for sounding so desperate.

"I'll check in when I can, love," Rod assured him softly.

Ian nodded and closed his eyes, and as usual, wondered why he cared so much about the older man. He was settling to cure his loneliness and he knew it, but Rod continued to look at Ian like he was his destination. This made Ian feel guilty, but after everything that had happened recently, especially with the customer from the bank, Ian found it very difficult to trust Rod. 

A black Town Car suddenly pulled up against the side walk, interrupting Ian's thoughts. Rod let out a heavy sigh as Ian slowly opened his eyes.

"Before I go, I want to give you something," Rod murmured, reaching into his coat pocket and pulled out a long, narrow black box.

Ian furrowed his brow and stared at the box intently as Rod opened it to display a very expensive looking chain necklace that sparkled in the sunlight.

"So you'll think of me while I'm gone," Rod smiled.

"You didn't have to..." Ian trailed off, feeling slightly guilty for being unable to reciprocate the feelings that Rod had for him. He just wasn't the _one,_ and Ian knew that deep in his heart. 

"It's the least I could do."

Ian shook his head and chuckled as he thought aloud, "that's probably worth my entire tuition."

"You're probably right," Rod confessed, both men chuckling as Rod closed the box and handed it over to Ian.

Ian smiled and quickly stuffed the box into his coat pocket before feeling the warmth of Rod's embrace.

"Be safe, my love. Mickey should be here soon."

Ian sighed into Rod's shoulder, "yes, how could I forget about my babysitter."

"And be good," Rod said in a light tone, though, Ian feeling like it was more of an actual warning than it was a joke.

"Yes dear," Ian replied sarcastically, releasing his embrace from Rod as the driver beeped the horn to indicate that it was time to leave.

Rod stared into Ian's eyes one last moment before brushing past him and getting into the back seat of the car. Ian half-smiled as he watched the car drive off into the distance, feeling a very small piece of his heart leaving with them.

"Why do I always catch feelings for psychopaths," Ian muttered under his breath as he spun around and headed inside of his building. His phone suddenly rang, interrupting his thoughts.

He grabbed the phone out of his pocket and immediately answered it before hitting the elevator button to take him up to his appartment.

"Hello?"

"Did you know that we have fourteen knuckles in each hand?" Sam asked.

Ian furrowed his brow and glanced down at his hand, balling his fist and counting intently.

"Huh," Ian mumbled in realization.

"Right? I always thought there were fifteen!"

Ian shook his head and chuckled, "why the fuck are you calling me at six in the morning to talk about knuckles?"

"Why the fuck are you awake? Shouldn't you just be getting in from the club?" Sam pressed.

"Left early last night. I was seeing Rod off this morning before his business trip."

"Business as in vacation with the wifey and kids?" Sam snorted.

"Fuck off," Ian retorted, "an actual business trip, out of the country."

"Sounds like a load of bullshit, Triss."

"Triss?"

"Yeah, Miss _Triss."_

"Oh, fuck off," Ian guffawed as he fumbled with his keys to open the door, listening to Sam's laughter, "you're so annoying."

"But you love me."

"I do," Ian admitted, kicking the door closed behind him and tossing his keys onto the side table. He plopped down onto the couch and extended his legs on the coffee table as he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV for background noise, "so are you going to tell me why you're calling me so early, or are you too busy writing your next round of shitty jokes?"

"Yeah, it's this crazy thing called bipolar depression... have you ever heard of it?"

Ian rolled his eyes, but nodding as he understood, "unfortunately, we both know that I have... Are you manic?"

"Like it's just another Monday, wishing it was Sunday," Sam confirmed.

"I'm really disappointed that you didn't just sing that to me," Ian said with a small laugh.

"I'll be sure to add it to my book of jokes for next time."

Ian shook his he as he listened to Sam chuckle on the other end before she took a brief pause and continued, "I'm making an appointment with Dr. Seaver later on today to up my meds or whatever. Time to play Guinea pig once again."

Ian nodded as he also knew that feeling very well, the thought nearly chilling as it was part of one of the lowest points in his entire life. The only difference was that he had Fiona who was very present throughout his life and practically played the role of his mother, and his siblings who were also more than supporting and helpful. Sam had a police officer for a father who was always gone on duty, and an alcoholic, judgemental, absent mother without any other family to care for her. 

Ian did his best to always be there for Sam when she needed it, especially during her most recent episodes when her bipolar became more present in her life. It wasn't until recent that she was actually diagnosed with bipolar, which completely destroyed her at first as it made her feel weak, which was something she _never_ considered herself to be. Without Ian being there to show her that there is light at the end of the tunnel and that her illness did not defy who she was, she knew that she wouldn't be here today.

Aside from her best friend, she also had her housekeeper, Rosalita, who basically raised her while her parents were absent, both physically and emotionally, throughout her childhood years. Her ecosystem of support may have been small, but it was somehow just enough to get her through the really tough days.

"I'm seeing Seaver today, too. She was able to fit me in after I told her that I may or may not have neglected to get a refill on my meds," Ian said in a monotonous tone, hoping that Sam didn't have the energy to berate him for skipping his doses intentionally. Before she could come up with whatever witty comment he knew she was capable of pulling out of her ass so quickly, Ian continued.

"Wanna come over? I could use the company before the babysitter's club gets here, and I'm sure you could use the company, too."

"Can't. Martha's in a mood and it's not even seven yet."

"Late night?" 

"Oh yeah. My dad and Martha got into it big time when he got home late last night, so dad left," Sam said then snorted, "Martha naturally drowned her sorrows in whiskey and her pain pills for the rest of the night. You know, got obliterated. The usual."

"Your mom always did have great taste in alcohol," Ian teased, understanding that using humor in a darker situation was Sam's preferred method to bury her feelings.

"Nothing wrong with a little Jack here and there," Sam chuckled darkly.

"Defy a little," Ian responded through laughter, Sam following suit.

"Thanks for talking me through my shit, per usual. I know you have plenty of your own to deal with, so just wanted you to know that you're a fabulous human."

Ian smiled softly, "you're pretty alright yourself. Let me know if you want to meet my keeper later on if you get bored."

"Doubt it. There's no time for boredom when your mind is as wild as mine," Sam answered, Ian nodding as her statement was completely relatable.

"Alright. Later Sam," Ian said before ending the call.

He exhaled heavily, worried for his closest friend. He glanced down and realized his coat was still on, though, suddenly distracted by a commercial on the TV. As Ian slowly began unbuttoning his coat, he kept his eyes glued to the screen. 

It was a commercial of a couple sitting on a beautiful beach with happy sounding music in the background, Ian assuming it was an advertisement for some sort of overrated vacation. He couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to actually take one someday.

 _Every time it's too nice out to be a workday, a Corona gets its lime,_ the commerical recited, Ian now seriously considering joining Martha in Margaritaville, or Old Styleville as that was what he had currently stocked in his fridge. He imagined himself on a warm beach with his lover, suddenly coming to the harsh realization that his inital thoughts and fantasy did not include Rod. 

Instantly feeling guilty, Ian switched the channel to some Lifetime movie and settled himself into the couch. He listened to the dramatic movie in the background as he felt his eyes beginning to get heavier, his mind finally able to relax as Rod was gone for a few weeks and he didn't have to work until later that night. With that, Ian fell fast asleep, dreaming of beaches and sunshine.

* * *

"You're such a fucking prick!" Mandy snapped at her brother.

"What else is new," Tony muttered under his breath, dragging Kenyatta's limp, beaten body to the Camaro.

"Is he gonna be okay?" Mandy asked in desperation.

"I hope not," Mickey answered bluntly, walking into the garage and opening the trunk of his car for Tony to place the body in.

"Mandy, he beats you. You're really going to just let him treat you like a piece of trash?" Tony asked with concern in his voice.

Mandy huffed and crossed her arms, "he loves me. He just... he gets angry sometimes."

Tony shook his head in disappointment before lifting up the body and tossing it into the trunk.

"Jesus, what did you guys do to him?" Mandy asked, noticing the blood on Tony's clothes.

"We taught him a lesson," Jamie answered promptly, also entering the garage from the side door, "he's no good for you, Mands. You deserve better and you know it."

Mandy felt sick to her stomach, swallowing hard as her body began to tremble. She knew her brothers were right and had her best interest in mind, but she was a prisoner of her own mind with her constant thoughts of having no self-worth due to the abuse she endured from her father throughout her life. She believed that she was worthless and that Kenyatta was what she deserved, but her brothers knew better than to allow her to believe that. They _always_ looked out for Mandy, even when she didn't think it was necessary.

"Take him for a little swim in the lake before you let him go," Mickey ordered, removing black rubber gloves from his hands and placing them in a small wastebasket with a hazard symbol on the lid.

"That almost full?" Jamie asked, glancing down at the wastebasket.

"Yeah, I'll have Dr. Wichmann pick it up tomorrow morning to dispose of it at his hospital," Mickey responded feeling his sister's glare burning into him as he shrugged and shot her a look of satisfaction, "having a doctor friend is essential to life."

Mandy huffed and rolled her eyes, suddenly moving her gaze to her folded arms and nearly gasping at the black and blue welts that covered her pale complexion. Mickey swallowed hard, watching cautiously as his sister began to come undone. Mandy immediately made her way over to one of the Camaro's side view mirrors and brought her hand up to cover her mouth in disbelief.

She stared at her reflection for a long time, something she didn't do very often, too afraid of what she would see. Slowly bringing her finger up to her busted lip and trailing it up to her bruised cheek bone, she felt tears instantly welling in her eyes and rolling down her cheeks. Mickey's blood began to boil as he witnessed his sister visibly breaking, not only on the outside but the inside.

Mickey sniffed and brought his hand up to his nose. In one quick motion, without any further thoughts, he pulled out his gun and moved towards Kenyatta.

"Easy, Mick," Tony said as he and Jaime tried to stand in his way.

The brunet pushed past his older brothers and held the gun up to Kenyatta's head, his entire body shaking in fury. He could only see red, unable to comprehend or hear what was happening outside of his anger; outside of his intent to end Kenyatta's existence. 

"Mickey, stop!" Mandy yelled through tears and instantly running towards her brother. She was immediately stopped by Tony holding onto her like a rag doll.

As he held on tight to his sister, Tony shot a quick glance to Jamie who nodded before moving forward to approach Mickey, slowly reaching for his brother's hand. Once Jamie's hand touched Mickey's, he carefully lowered their hands and attempted to remove the gun from his brother's grip.

"It's alright, Mick. We'll take care of it. Let us handle it," Jamie said calmly, successfully removing the gun from from his younger brother's hand. 

Once Jamie obtained the gun and put it down on a small table beside the Camaro, he placed a hand on Mickey's shoulder. The younger Milkovich continued to tremble and pant heavily as he stared at Kenyatta with utter hate and disgust.

"We'll handle it," Jamie confirmed again, Mickey finally coming to his senses and nodding.

"I'm sorry. It's just that this _fucking prick_ thinks he can get away with beating women; with beating our _sister._ That shit doesn't exactly sit well with me," Mickey said through gritted teeth.

"We know, Mick. But you know what happens when you get crazy like that. You completely snap, and there's no saving you, or anyone else for that matter, once you snap," Tony answered as he hugged a now sobbing Mandy.

Mickey glared at Kenyatta one last moment before breaking free from his brother's grip, grabbing his gun from off of the table and headed for the side door out of the garage. 

The brunet slammed the door shut behind him before leaning against it and exhaling heavily. His legs buckled beneath him, defeatedly giving into his moment of weakness as he slowly crouched down against the door and ran his fingers through the sides of his hair.

He inhaled slowly and exhaled for a long moment before finally finding the inner strength to collect himself. He stood back up, understanding he had a high standard of toughness to uphold. It wasn't very often that he would allow himself a moment of weakness, but he believed this particular situation warranted it.

With that, he did his best to shake it off, stuffing the gun into his holster and making his way into the kitchen to find Iggy eating a bowl of cereal.

"You alright, Mick?" Iggy asked through a mouthful of the sugary flakes.

"Fuckin' circus out there," Mickey muttered, "You going to check on Rod's bitch today?"

"No?" Iggy spat out cereal onto the table causing Mickey recoil inwardly and grimace at the sight.

"Chew your goddamn food you neanderthal," Mickey retorted, "and you're going to stop by later to check on him just so you know."

"For what?" Iggy whined.

"For what," Mickey muttered under his breath in disbelief, "Gee, I dunno. Maybe for the one mill Rod promised us to keep his little boyfriend safe while he's gone! Fucking idiot."

"One million dollars? Each, or like...split up?"

Mickey smacked the palm of his hand over his face and emitted an aggravated groan, "you're about to get nothing if you keep asking me stupid fucking questions. Go get Colin and drive over to fuckboy's house!"

"You know I hate it when you call me that," Joey sighed, emerging into the kitchen from the bathroom.

"It's not my fault that Terry forgot your name most of the time and started calling you that," Mickey retorted, reaching for his phone from out of his pocket and noticing he had a new voicemail.

"Looks like you're coming with me, _Colin."_ Iggy teased, earning a middle finger from his brother as Mickey snickered.

"Fuck you, Iggy. I'm going into the city with Stacy today, so handle that stupid shit yourself," Joey spat, "Stacy would have my balls if I canceled."

"Your girlfriend owns more of your balls than you do," Mickey said, Joey shrugging in response, knowing it was a true statement.

"Can you come with me, Mick?"

"You want me to tuck you guys in and read you a bedtime story while I'm at it?" Mickey retorted.

"I don't want to go alone. What if that French dude's henchmen are waiting for me there or something?" Iggy asked with concern in his voice.

Mickey contemplated for a moment before sighing in frustration, "fine. I'll come with you, but just this once. Got it?"

Iggy nodded, "thanks, Mick."

Mickey pursed his lips and brought the phone up to his ear to listen to the voicemail, unsurprised to hear a familiar French man's voice on the message.

"Bonjour, mon ami. It's come to my attention that our mutual friend has given the flash drive to one of his acquaintances. Any idea where they're hiding? Remember Mickey, I have eyes on _all_ of you."

Mickey lowered the phone from his ear after the voicemail ended abruptly, cursing under his breath.

"What's going on?" Joey asked.

"Frenchy's on to us," Mickey answered and turned to face Iggy, "how about you stay here to watch the house tonight and stay with Mandy since Joey's gonna be gone with Stacy, and Tony and Jamie will probably be going home later. Pretty sure Marco gave them a job anyway."

"What about Rod's bitch?" Iggy asked.

"I'll take care of it," Mickey confirmed, "I'll leave later on to keep a close eye on him for the night. Gotta go talk to Tony and Jamie and tell them what's up."

Iggy and Joey nodded as Mickey rubbed his eyes vigorously, trying to find more strength to remain calm, knowing he would have to go back into the garage where Kenyatta was; where he wanted to murder the man who beat his sister on numerous occasions.

* * *

Ian woke up to complete darkness. With the understanding that he must have slept the entire day away, he immediately scrambled to find his phone to see what time it was. Disoriented and groggy, Ian found the phone on the floor and noticed that it was five in the afternoon. 

"Fuck," he mumbled as he remembered that he missed his appointment with Dr. Seaver.

He sighed due to another realization that he only had one more hour to wakeup and shower before having to head out to the club for his shift.

Ian rubbed his eyes and slowly stood up from the couch, attempting to maintain his balance before making his way into the the bathroom. As soon as he opened the toilet seat to relieve himself, he heard a loud knock on his door. Ian exhaled as, yet again, realization struck. 

_How could I forget about my babysitter,_ Ian thought to himself as he finished his business and walked towards the door. As he went to open it, another loud knock nearly startled him. 

"I'm opening the door now. Christ," Ian yelled in aggravation, fidgeting with the last lock before pulling the door open to find a beautiful man with dark hair and blue eyes standing in the doorway with his arms crossed, staring up at him.

Ian immediately lost sight of everything else as his attention was entirely drawn to the man's eyes. He couldn't help but notice that the brunet stared back at him with a similar look that matched his own; a look of instant desire. Ian felt his cheeks begin to flush and quickly gathered himself to break the awkward encounter, sheepishly scratching the back of his head before speaking, "um, hi. Are you Mickey?"

"Are you Rod's side piece?" Mickey retorted unexpectedly, voice sounding unamused.

Before Ian could comprehend, the brunet pushed past him and entered the appartment to immediately begin checking the place out.

"You see anything strange in here today, other than your reflection in the mirror?" Mickey asked teasingly.

Ian instantly felt anger and lost all sense of attraction to the beautiful man. He wasn't used to guys not drooling over him, so naturally he became frustrated and defensive with Mickey's sudden lack of interest.

"Other than a seemingly passive-aggressive douchebag bombarding my apartment unannounced, no I have not," Ian responded gruffly, "you're super late, by the way. Bet Rod would love to hear about that."

Mickey snickered as he ignored the redhead and continued to check the appartment thoroughly, Ian watching intently as he did so. Feeling eyes on him, Mickey stopped moving and directed his attention toward Ian again, "you always stare at your boyfriend's pals like a piece of meat?"

Ian guffawed and crossed his arms, "you always this big of a douchebag?" 

"Always," Mickey confirmed, smirking before continuing to search the appartment. 

Ian rolled his eyes and made his way back into the bathroom to shower, having a feeling that tonight was going to be a very long night. 

Once Ian was out of sight, Mickey let out a sigh of relief, deciding that babysitting the very attractive redhead was going to be much harder than he intended.


	7. Two Rocks and a Hard Place

"I can't even fucking deal, Sam. He's such an asshole," Ian complained, angrily taking a drag on his cigarette and stepping over a sewer drain.

Sam raised an eyebrow, "weird... You seem to be talking about someone who you proclaim to hate an awful lot."

"I can't help it. He drives me nuts! He's always bossing me around and following me everywhere I go," Ian said in aggravation, "and he won't stop calling me these annoying fucking names."

"Shit," Sam muttered, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk to grab Ian by the shoulders and staring widely up at him, "anything but annoying names. Somebody go get this man a tissue!"

"I'm serious, Sam. It's really getting on my nerves," Ian retorted, huffing and pushing through her before taking another long drag. 

"Names like what?" Sam asked through laughter, quickly earning a death glare from Ian.

She threw her hands up that were covered by fingerless gloves in surrender while Ian began to dramatically finger-count as he listed the insults, "Big Red, Fire Crotch, Highlander, Heat Miser, Carrot Top, Pumpkin Patch. It's like he refuses to call me by my real name."

Sam immediately bursted out into laughter, wiping away the tears that began to form as a result. Ian rolled his eyes and proceeded to take another puff before adjusting his scarf in response to the wind that made the air much colder than it needed to be.

"It's really not that funny," Ian mumbled as he exhaled smoke.

"I'm fucking dying right now! Can you please introduce us? I feel like he's my soulmate... Well, despite the whole having a dick and not being a female thing."

"Absolutely not! He's such an asshole. You would seriously hate him," Ian spat, walking up the steps leading to the L.

"I beg to differ," Sam rebutted as she followed him up the stairs, "where is he, anyway? Shouldn't he be up your ass right now?"

"Today was his brother's day to watch over me. Apparently Mickey has work all day long that doesn't involve being up my ass twenty-four seven, but so far his brother has been nowhere to be seen," Ian said in noticeable relief, glancing down at his wrist watch to see that it was a little past four o'clock in the afternoon. The time caused him to sigh heavily as he only had a few more hours until he needed to leave for his shift at the club.

"Seriously though, these last few days have been some of the most frustrating days of my life. I'd honestly rather endure Monica's fucked up batshit behavior than deal with Mickey any further."

"Oh my God, you're so dramatic," Sam snorted.

The L suddenly roared towards them, the two waiting for the doors to open before quickly boarding to relieve themselves from the arctic-like air. Once settled in their seats, Sam turned to face Ian while bringing her knees up to place her feet on the seat. She stared at Ian until he finally gave in and turned to face her.

"Why are you staring at me?" Ian scoffed, sliding her feet off of the seat, "and get your cold ass boots off of the seat, you're getting dirt everywhere."

Sam raised an eyebrow and smirked, ignoring his comments, "oh, I'm sure it's nothing."

"If I know you, then I know it's _never_ simply nothing."

"You've got that look in your eyes," Sam stated nonchalantly, observing Ian's cheeks flush before continuing, "all I'm sayin' is that I haven't seen that look in your eyes when you talk about Rod; and he's your _boyfriend."_

"What are you even talking about? I don't have any look in my eyes," Ian disputed.

"You can only be in denial for so long, until your feelings finally get the best of you," Sam shrugged casually. 

"Oh my... Now you're the one who's getting on my nerves," Ian responded in defense, "I don't _like_ Mickey whatsoever. Not even as a friend. He's disrespectful, abrasive and a complete douchebag."

"You're just not used to men turning you down, but the truth is that this particular one drives you _crazy._ It's human instinct to want what you can't have. We're just wired that way."

Ian rolled his eyes, "I'm telling you Sam, I fucking hate him. Plus, he's _definitely_ not gay."

"How do you know? Did you ask him?"

"Fuck no!" Ian responded a little too loudly, earning a look of disapproval from an elderly woman near them. Ian grimaced and waved apologetically before turning back to Sam and lowering his voice, "I keep hearing him talk to this Russian chick on the phone, and she refers to him as 'daddy'. I highly doubt he's gay."

"Barf," Sam uttered in disgust.

"Exactly. He's not even my type, anyway," Ian stated matter-of-factly, pausing before continuing, "and I already have a boyfriend."

"Right, I forgot your type was creepy old married men with no sense of humor," Sam chided.

"Rod isn't _that_ old, and he's not creepy!"

"But married," Sam pressed.

"I know," Ian sighed, "I've already accepted that. I'm happy with him."

"Are you, though?"

Ian remained silent, knowing the true answer to Sam's question, but wasn't trying to give her the satisfaction of being right almost all of the time.

"We'll see what happens," Sam said quietly, smirking at the redhead before pulling out her phone.

"No we won't. We won't see anything," Ian responded in aggravation. 

"We'll see," Sam confirmed with a grin.

"Anyone ever tell you that you're a major pain in the ass?" 

"Martha," Sam answered promptly, "almost every day when I was a kid."

* * *

Mickey dropped off his last client of the night to their destination and exhaled in exhaustion as the clock on the dashboard read 9:30 PM, feeling satisfied to know that his day was coming to a close much earlier than expected. 

It was windy and extremely cold for an October night, Mickey blasting the heat in response until feeling content with the temperature in his Camaro. He hadn't turned the heat on much as of yet, mainly because his clients preferred it that way, but also due to the weather not being as cold as it was tonight. This would be an exception. 

The brunet made it home in record time, finding Joey and Iggy on the couch watching The Bachelor. Narrowing his eyes at Iggy, he slowly stepped forward, holding his gaze to his brother.

"Iggy," Mickey said through gritted teeth, his brother immediately turning around to face the brunet with bloodshot, glassy eyes, clearly stoned.

"Yo, Mick. You ever watch this shit? It's fuckin' hil-"

"Why the _fuck_ are you home right now?" Mickey interrupted with extreme anger in his voice.

His demeanor caused Joey to quickly get up from the couch and shuffle into the kitchen, out of sight from his irate younger brother.

"Where else would I be, Mick?"

Mickey widened his eyes, looking like a crazed dog. He lunged forward at Iggy and pulled him up off of the couch by the front of his shirt, then tossed him to the ground. He put his boot on Iggy's chest to hold him down as he glared at his older brother, putting the fear of God into him.

"We have _one million_ fucking dollars on the line, and you're going to get stoned and watch shitty ass TV shows instead? Are you fucking dense?"

Iggy caught his breath and smacked the palm of his hand to his forehead, "fuck! I'm so sorry, Mick. I forgot... I got distracted and I -"

"Now I need to do _your_ job, too? You realize that I have an on call type of job and don't have the goddamn time to babysit? I need to be available at all times for my clients who need to escape from whatever shit they did, and I can't do that when I've got _two_ dipshit brothers sitting around doing nothing," Mickey scolded before moving his glare to Joey who was peeking at them from the kitchen, "yeah, I'm talking about you too, _Colin!"_

"Hey, I've been with Stacy the past couple days! I just got home 'bout an hour ago," Joey responded from the kitchen, clearly afraid of his brother as he stayed there while Mickey moved his targetting glare back to Iggy.

"And what's your excuse, you fucking nimrod?" Mickey asked Iggy through gritted teeth.

"I'm sorry, Mickey..."

The brunet pressed his boot down onto Iggy's chest a little harder and lowered himself to his brother, "you ever _forget_ to do a job I give you in the future, and I'll _forget_ to miss when I shoot you in the leg for being an idiot. Just keep in mind that would be going easy on you; Marco would kill you instantly without any second thoughts if he ever caught wind of you forgetting about one of his assigned jobs. Am I clear on this?"

Iggy nodded nervously before Mickey looked him over one last time, his face softening a bit before lifting his boot off of his brother. He extended out his hand for Iggy to grab, pulling him up from off of the floor and dusting him off. 

"I'm sorry for losing my shit on you, Ig. Just have a microscope on me right now, and I cant afford any mistakes to be made."

"I get it, man. I really am sorry for forgetting."

"We're cool," Mickey said with a half-smile before walking towards the closet and grabbing his coat. "Alright, I'm heading out to go babysit Ginger Bread. Gotta make sure he's still in one piece."

"Before you go, can I tell you what Mandy's next shit is real quick?" Iggy diverted the conversation, Mickey raising his eyebrows in response.

"Her next shit?"

Joey's giggle in the kitchen caused both Milkovich brothers to spin around and face his direction. Iggy put a hand on Mickey's forearm, knowing he wasn't going to like what was about to be said.

"So, you know how Svet needs a new girl for the Rub 'n Tug?" Iggy asked carefully, examining Mickey's expressionless face until it suddenly clicked.

"Abso-fucking-lutely not! No fucking way," Mickey snapped.

"Don't shoot the messenger," Iggy replied, placing his hands behind his head and stretching.

Mickey grabbed the bridge of his nose in frustration, "alright, let me deal with Rod's stupid shit before I go deal with Svetlana's stupid shit. I told her no about Mandy weeks ago, and she still goes behind my back? Fucking A."

"Good luck, man. Let us know if you hear from Frenchie and his goons tonight," Iggy said before making his way back over to the couch and plopping down. 

"I will. Haven't heard from him since that message he left me a few days ago, so seems like we're off the radar for now."

"We'll watch the house for ya, bro," Joey chimed in from the kitchen.

"Great work, agent fuckhead," Mickey guffawed. "I'll probably be back in the middle of the night, but if I don't see you two dipshits later, then I'll see you at some point tomorrow."

"Be careful," Joey warned as Mickey left the kitchen to head out towards the garage, stopping to send a text message first.

_Mickey (9:57 PM): U home?_

The brunet sighed before lighting up a cigarette and signing into Tinder as he waited for a response back. Seeing no one of interest, he continuously swiped left until he stumbled upon a familiar freckled face.

"Caught 'cha," Mickey chuckled under his breath as he scrutinized the account. His phone immediately buzzed to indicate he had a new message, interrupting his search and findings.

 **Ian** (10:01 PM): At work. Will be home at 3.

 **Mickey** (10:01 PM): Be there in 20

Mickey exited the text message and gazed down at Ian's tinder account, unable to suppress his strong feelings of attraction. As he continued to stare at the revealing picture of Ian, he felt his cock twitch, his carnal instincts getting the best of him as he wondered what the redhead would be like in bed. 

_Fucking A,_ Mickey thought to himself as he knew that Ian was off limits and would seriously get him into trouble.

Quickly brushing his thoughts away, he stepped into the Camaro and revved his engine before taking off into the night.

* * *

The deep bass from outside of the club thudded hard against Mickey's chest as he tugged at his cigarette one last time before tossing it to the ground. He watched from the side as people entered, mainly men between their mid thirties and late sixties. Mickey shook his head as he noticed that majority of the older men entering the club had either taken their wedding rings off at the door or simply forgot to take them off.

"You alone, sweetie?" A man's sultry voice interrupted Mickey's observations.

"Back the fuck up, twinkle toes. I'm not interested," Mickey retorted, sending one last text to Ian to relay that he had arrived to the club.

The man rolled his eyes and muttered, "free yourself from the closet, boo boo."

"The fuck did you just say to me?" Mickey shot back, the man holding up his hands before turning around gracefully and entering the club with a group of his friends.

Mickey huffed, taking one last deep breath before entering the club. Over the course of the last few days, he had only brought Ian to work, waiting outside of the club for the entirety of his shift, and then immediately brought him home. This was the first time Mickey had gone inside, or had ever been to a club like this before.

It wasn't hard to spot the shock of red hair belonging to Ian, spotting him dancing on a podium in the center of the club with a group of men below him gawking at his tight body gyrating to the music. Mickey glanced down at Ian's gold booty shorts, licking his lips at what was obviously packed into them. 

Against his better judgment, Mickey headed towards the bar to order a Jack Daniels on the rocks, throwing the drink back quicker than it was poured into the glass. He took a look around the room, noticing the other dancers swaying their bodies against the music in cages while other dancers were giving private dances to customers off to the side on the couches.

Although the other dancers were desirable at best, Mickey couldn't keep his eyes off of Ian who clearly stole the spotlight. His sensual movements did things to the brunet that no one had ever had the capability of doing with just a suave sway of his body. Mickey knew he was in trouble, testing the waters even further by ordering yet another Jack and bringing it to the rail that overlooked where Ian was dancing.

"He's so fucking sexy," another man commented to Mickey, the brunet raising an aggravated eyebrow and chugging the rest of his drink before moving his gaze back to the redhead.

"I literally only come here for him," the man continued.

"Yeah? What do you know about him?" Mickey asked out of pure curiosity, nonchalantly trying to adjust his growing erection in his fitted jeans.

"His name is Curtis. Single. That's all I need to know."

"Curtis?" Mickey cackled.

The man nodded, keeping his gaze on the redhead as the lights began to strobe over his body, showcasing him like a masterpiece in an art museum. Ian soon caught Mickey's gaze, instantly locking eyes with him and feeling the undeniable electricity coursing through his veins. The redhead suddenly licked his lips and took a step down off of the podium, gliding towards Mickey.

"Fuck," the brunet muttered under his breath as Ian began to approach him.

"Like what you see?" Ian teased with confidence. He raised an eyebrow in suspicion as he glanced down at Mickey's bulge before moving his gaze back to lustful blue eyes, "I'll take that as a yes."

"You'll take that as a fuck you, Gallagher," Mickey retorted. 

Ian's eyes immediately lit up, "holy shit, did you just call me by my name and _not_ by a ginger reference?"

Mickey chuckled, "don't get used to it, fire crotch."

"There he is," Ian sighed, "so, do you want a dance?"

 _Fuck yes, I do. I wanna fuck you hard into that goddamn couch over there until you're screaming my name,_ is what Mickey wanted to say, but instead he replied with, "nah, I'm good."

Thankfully, Mickey's cellphone buzzed in his pocket, saving him from one of the most awkward situations he's ever been in. He held up a finger to Ian and answered the call to distract his sinful thoughts regarding his client's boyfriend.

"Hello?"

"We have big problem."

"What's going on, Svet?" Mickey asked, noticing Ian eyes slightly narrowing at him.

"Darrel not pay again. Is big stupid man going to come make him pay?"

"You calling _me_ a big stupid man?"

"No. Your brother. The really big one...Tony, I think?" Svetlana huffed, "is loud where you are. What are you doing?"

"None of your fucking business," Mickey snapped, "which also reminds me; why the fuck did you tell Mandy it was okay to work with you?"

"She is beautiful girl with brains. She knows what she is doing."

"You didn't answer my question," Mickey pressed, plugging his other ear to listen to Svetlana.

"I must go now. Please send Tony to collect payment and all will be good."

Before Mickey could interject, Svetlana had already hung up. The brunet heavily sighed before realizing that Ian was still standing beside him. 

"Was that your girlfriend?" Ian asked.

"Something like that," Mickey answered, not in the mood to relay that he is also running a side business pimping out prostitutes; Svetlana being one of them.

"Knew it," Ian sighed under his breath before turning around and heading back up to the podium. 

Mickey raised a curious eyebrow as he noticed the implication of Svetlana being his girlfriend truly bothering the redhead. Nonetheless, Mickey remained leaning against the rail and watched Ian from a distance, the two periodically catching each other's gaze; both silently lusting after one another until Ian's shift finally ended.

* * *

Mickey blasted the heat as he waited for Ian to walk out of the club, wondering what the fuck had gotten into him tonight. It was like Ian was under his skin, and he had no idea what to do about it. Breaking his thoughts, he spotted Ian walking out of the club and heading towards the Camaro, Mickey swallowing hard and preparing himself as Ian opened the door.

"Any day now," Mickey muttered as the redhead took his time to get into the passenger seat, letting the warm air out of the car.

"Relax," Ian shot back, Mickey biting the inside of his lip to hold back a small smile. He liked that Ian didn't take his shit, but had to continue dishing it out in order to divert any feelings between the two. He wasn't trying to get murdered by Rod any time soon, and he was sure he could always find another guy to cure his loneliness for the night.

The drive was silent aside from music that was quietly playing on the radio, Ian finding himself stealing glances of the brunet, fantasizing what his mouth could do. 

"You hungry?" Mickey asked, Ian immediately flushing and turning to look out the window.

"Um, yeah. I have food at my appartment though."

"Suit yourself. I'm going to town on a Big Mac," Mickey chuckled.

Ian shook his head, thinking back to his conversation with Sam about McDonald's not too long ago, "enjoy it, man."

Mickey felt a small smile creep up on lips, though, quickly pursing his lips to hide it. His phone suddenly rang, and the brunet reached for it to answer quickly once noticing it was one of his clients. 

He spoke cryptically, Ian furrowing his brow and trying to understand what the latter was talking about over the phone as he attempted to eavesdrop. Once the conversation ended, Mickey sighed, sliding his phone into his pocket and taking a hard turn down a side street.

"Thought you were going to McDonald's?"

"Work called. Gotta drop you off and clock in a little early."

"A _little_ early? It's almost three in the morning," Ian pressed, "what do you do for work?"

"This and that," Mickey responded through a chuckle.

"Wow, very descriptive."

"Always am."

Ian rolled his eyes and stayed silent for the rest of the drive home until they arrived at his appartment. Mickey parked the Camaro directly next to the walkway leading into the building, Ian half smiling before opening the door. Once he stepped out of the car, he spun around to face Mickey one last time.

"Thanks for driving me."

"Whatever, fire crotch," Mickey replied, smirking once he noticed the annoyance on Ian's face.

The redhead rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him before heading towards his building. Mickey waited until Ian was safe inside, standing by until the lights from his appartment illuminated one of the rooms he had sight on from a window a few floors up. Mickey leaned back into his seat the moment Ian visibly peeked out of the window, but immediately closed the curtain.

The brunet emitted a heavy sigh before shifting the car into drive and peeling out, wondering what the fuck he was getting himself into, and how he was going to last another two weeks.


	8. The Great Gallagher

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With the holiday season upon us, I most likely won't be able to update as frequently. 
> 
> I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving!(for those who celebrate it) =)

"It feels a lot like winter for October," Dr. Seaver shivered, turning up the dial of the thermostat to increase the heat as she narrowed her eyes at the frost forming outside of her office window.

"I know, I love it," Ian answered promptly with heavy sarcasm in his tone.

Dr. Seaver made her way back over to her desk and took a seat, "I think we belong somewhere that has a warmer climate."

"Don't worry; I'm sure global warming will solve for that soon enough. The environment is already going to shit. Just give it a few more years."

Ian's conviction of rapid environmental decline caused his therapist to raise a quizzical eyebrow before pursing her lips and nodding in agreement. Dr. Seaver decided it would be best to change the subject as she took note of her patient's seemingly negative demeanor this particular session. She adjusted her glasses and pulled out her notepad. "So, how's everything been going lately?" 

Ian stared incredulously at his therapist before letting out a sardonic laugh as he slowly started to come undone, "oh, just peachy."

"Care to elaborate?" The therapist softly chuckled.

"It's nothing, really. I'm probably just being dramatic per usual."

The therapist raised an eyebrow, "Ian, you've been coming here long enough to know that in order for me to help you, you need to be willing to accept my help; which means that you need to be honest with me."

"Fine," Ian sighed, leaning forward in his chair and holding his gaze to Dr. Seaver. "I'm sorry for coming off short. I really do find our sessions to be extremely helpful, and obviously you're the best. It's just that my week has been _so_ shitty. Now that I think of it," Ian paused for a moment before realization struck, "this whole month has been shitty, too. In fact, this whole _year_ has been shitty." 

"Tell me what's been going on since we last met," Dr. Seaver stated, leveling her voice. 

"I met a guy," Ian started carefully.

"You met a guy," Dr. Seaver repeated.

"His name is Rod. And..."

"And?" She pressed.

"Well, it's sort of complicated."

"How so?"

"I like him, and he's really nice, but I...I'm not _certain_ that I feel the same way that he feels about me."

The therapist slowly nodded, writing something down in her notepad before bringing her gaze back up to Ian. "So, Rod is making your life more complicated lately?"

"Well, it's not exactly _just_ him. I've also had a pretty shitty last couple of months, mostly because I've been working nonstop and haven't had a chance to breathe," Ian replied with evident exhaustion in his voice, noticing his therapist raise an eyebrow. Ian pursed his lips and exhaled heavily. "Fine, maybe I've noticed a slight uptick in my stress levels when I'm around Rod."

"How did you meet him?"

"I met him at the club. I should have known it was a bad idea from the start when I saw the ring on his finger."

"He's married?" Dr. Seaver asked.

"Hey, I thought this was a judgement free zone?"

Dr. Seaver smiled softly before glancing down to write in her notepad, "you know I would never judge you, Ian."

"I know," Ian sighed, "so, he's married, older, super handsome, he's filthy rich and he's beyond crazy for me."

"But you're not crazy about him," Dr. Seaver nodded.

"Exactly. I mean, I like him and all, but he's just so intense. He freaked out on this customer at the bank after the guy was being a douche to me and Sam, right? Well, shortly after, the guy commits suicide..."

Dr. Seaver glanced up at Ian before he continued, "it's probably just an awful coincidence, but of course my brain instantly assumes Rod has something to do with it... He just gives off the kind of vibe where he could maybe be a little crazy, I guess."

Ian immediately felt sick to his stomach as the memories of the customer getting shot in the alleyway began to replay in his mind, torn between his denial of thinking it was all in his head and knowing the painful truth that the customer did not commit suicide; he was murdered by Rod in broad daylight. 

Quickly changing the subject before the therapist could probe, Ian leaned back in his seat, "I know he didn't actually do anything to the guy, but my point is that Rod seems a little too much for me. I just don't feel that he's the one, you know?"

Dr. Seaver nodded, jotting down notes in her notepad before bringing her attention back to Ian, awaiting his continuation of the conversation. 

"I don't ever get the feeling of 'fireworks' and shit — you know, like you supposedly do in the movies? I feel nothing but dread and anxiety inside whenever we're together. I don't even really know why I'm still with him. Honestly, my daddy issues probably has a lot to do with it, or even just a quick fix to cure the loneliness, but that's about it."

"Your father issues that you have are very real. It's okay to acknowledge them," Dr. Seaver said in a comforting tone.

"Fuck Frank. I hate when we talk about my daddy issues," Ian chuckled darkly out of nervous habit in regards to speaking about uncomfortable subjects, such as his shitty father.

"Like I said, he's nice and he buys me things, but I don't necessarily think he's 'the one'. It's almost like he looks at me like I'm one of his valuable possessions and not like an actual human being. Maybe it's just deep infatuation or something."

Dr. Seaver nodded, taking the bait on Ian's subject change and not returning to the topic of the customer from the bank, thankfully. She swept a lingering piece of blonde hair behind her ear and adjusted her glasses before standing up to walk toward her bookshelf beside the frosty window, reaching for _The Great Gatsby._ She blew the thin layer of dust off the book and ambled toward her desk, taking a seat and gently sliding the novel toward Ian. "Have you ever read this?"

"Of course I have," Ian guffawed.

Dr. Seaver smiled softly and nodded, "what did you get out of it?"

"That rich people suck," Ian stated matter-of-factly.

"Yes, but what else?"

"That Gatsby threw some pretty sick ragers," Ian shrugged.

Dr. Seaver slowly closed her eyes, placing her hands on top of the book, "it's about the American Dream. Depending on how you interpret that, it's about improving one's self to achieve overall success."

"How do you figure?"

"Think about it. The characters that seemed to have the most 'success' weren't actually exemplifying self-improvement, right? They were blatantly drawn to the American Dream, though, only achieving success in more of a materialistic way; all the while, consistently demonstrating immoral behavior and corrupting the American Dream from start to finish. They were just, well, _really_ shitty people. Excluding Nick Carraway, of course."

Ian huffed, "I hated how no one showed up to Gatsby's funeral after he threw all of those parties for random social climbers. Why would he even bother throwing parties for people who never gave a damn about him?"

Dr. Seaver snickered and shook her head in disbelief, "alright, now I'm totally convinced you read a different version of the book that I read."

"What am I missing here, Doc?"

"Gatsby didn't throw those parties for random social climbers. He threw the parties in hopes of Daisy happening to stumble in one night, wanting to impress her by flaunting his ostentatious house, belongings and wealth as he decided that was the only testament to his 'success'. He dreamt of someday reconnecting with her, but was so tragically blinded by his love for her that he couldn't see she was rotten inside, or that she _only_ cared about materialistic things. I mean, she didn't even attend his funeral, for Christ's sake." 

"So what's your point?" Ian asked with skepticism.

"My point is that you need to focus on self-improvement to achieve success, Ian," Dr. Seaver said, leaning back in her chair, "becoming complacent with your own version of self-worth, which we both know warrants some re-evaluation, isn't a way to live a fulfilling life. You see, we accept the love we _think_ we deserve, and sometimes materialistic success can blind us."

"I'm sorry to be so unreceptive to what you're saying, but again, what's your point?" Ian asked, chewing on the knuckle of his thumb.

"Is Rod truly a testament to your success in self-improvement, or is he only able to offer you material things in exchange for the idea of love, which ties into your complacency more so?" 

Ian stared blankly at Dr. Seaver in silence, taking in her words carefully. He nodded slowly, though, his deep contemplation suddenly disrupted by his cell phone ringing. As Ian went to quickly silence the phone, he saw that it was Mickey calling, instantly letting out a heavy sigh.

"Thanks for the book. Maybe I'll actually read it this time," Ian teased, Dr. Seaver shaking her head in response. 

"We have about nine minutes left," Dr. Seaver stated, "is there anything else you'd like to discuss before we talk meds?"

Ian paused, biting his lip before readjusting in his seat. "Is it wrong of me to _maybe_ have feelings for someone else while in a relationship?"

Dr. Seaver pursed her lips as she crossed one of her legs over the other, "we're only human, Ian. We have needs and wants that might not always be considered to be morally correct to some. Is it wrong for you to have feelings for someone? Never."

"You just ducked my question then totally did your therapist shit on me," Ian chuckled, Dr. Seaver following suit. "Am I wrong for having a small crush on another guy at the same time, though?"

"Ian, your intuition tells you that Rod isn't the right guy for you. You know and understand that he's not the one and that you don't even have mutual feelings for him the way he does for you. In short, you're unhappy...so are you wrong for finding yourself attracted to someone else who you think could potentially make you happy? Absolutely not."

"That's the thing, though," Ian sighed, "I don't know if this guy even likes me, or if he's even into guys for that matter. It's really weird, though; everytime I'm with him, I get butterflies like a teenager. I know it sounds stupid, but I _almost_ think I make him feel a similar way, it's just hard to tell because he's definitely one of those guys that doesn't like to talk about their feelings, or really talk about anything for a long period of time. Plus, he's a total hardass, which makes me attracted to him even more."

Dr. Seaver smiled and nodded, "Ian, my best advice for you is to follow your heart. If you like this guy, and he seems to like you too, maybe that's just another sign from the universe telling you that you and Rod aren't meant to be."

Ian nodded to himself, no longer able to stop himself from thinking of the brunet who made his heart feel like it could fly.

* * *

Mickey exhaled smoke through his nostrils as he waited in the Camaro for Ian to come out of the therapist's office. He was impatient today, calling Ian multiple times to see when the appointment would be over. If he had to be honest with himself, Mickey was more on edge than impatient. 

He had received a phone call this morning from a very irate Rod, indicating that he was unhappy with the lack of communication from Ian, which was mainly Mickey's fault as he had neglected to tell Ian that Rod called to speak to him on multiple occasions. 

Recently, in an attempt to make things safer, they filtered all phone calls through Mickey instead of Rod calling Ian directly. Additionally, Rod relayed at that time that he needed to stay in hiding for an another three to four weeks due to Luke and his goons being high on his tail. As a result, everyone was a little more on edge than usual.

Thankfully, the sight of bright red hair immediately grabbed Mickey's attention, the brunet exhaling in relief before unlocking the door, anticipating Ian's arrival.

"You don't know how to answer a goddamned phone call?" Mickey snarled, tossing his cigarette out the window before rolling it up.

"Nice to see you, too," Ian muttered under his breath. "Will it be a whole thing again if I suggest turning up the heat in here?"

"Probably," Mickey confirmed, reaching for the dial to turn up the heat at the same time as Ian, though, quickly retracting his hand as it brushed against Ian's. "Jesus! Your hands are cold as fuck."

Ian sat back into his seat, turning his head to face the brunet. He swallowed hard, pausing for a moment before speaking, staring intently at Mickey. "They say I'm also incredibly fast and strong. I also sometimes sparkle in the sun light."

Mickey narrowed his eyes at the redhead before moving his gaze to the road and abruptly pulling out into traffic. He felt Ian's relentless stare on him, finally giving in and glaring back at the redhead once stopped at a stoplight.

"The fuck are you staring at me for?"

"Nothing?"

"Nothing, what?" Mickey spat.

"I'm just disappointed that you didn't get - "

"I understood your reference, firecrotch; I have a little sister. Stupid fucking _Twilight_ making vampires lame as shit, sparkling and falling in love with humans. Vampires are supposed to be scary and eat humans."

Ian bit the inside of his cheek as he watched the brunet lick his lips and move his focus back to the road. "Was just trying to joke with you."

"You ever think that maybe you're just not that funny?" Mickey asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Ian rolled his eyes and sighed, "why are you always such an asshole?"

"Just am," Mickey muttered, fighting hard to show as much disinterest in the redhead as possible, even if he wasnt particularly lacking interest in his client's boyfriend.

With that, Ian suppressed his desire for further conversation with the brunet for most of the way home. Every now and then, he'd steal quick glances at Mickey, feeling his heart flutter each time, but kept quiet nonetheless. After a few more moments of this, Ian couldn't stand it, finally breaking the silence.

"Have you ever seen _Blade?"_

Mickey stared blankly ahead, showing no sign of mustering a response.

 _It was worth a shot,_ Ian thought to himself in defeat as he was now certain that Mickey wanted nothing to do with him. As he turned his head to gaze out the window, the brunet suddenly cleared his throat before lighting up a cigarette.

"Now that's a vampire movie I can fuck with. Wesley Snipes is a badass motherfucker in that movie."

"Right?" Ian answered a little too promptly, immediately flushing at the sight of Mickey flashing a smug smile.

The brunet took a long drag, visibly calming down as he received his nicotine fix. He licked his lips before handing the cigarette over to Ian, the redhead accepting the offer.

"What do you see in Rod, anyway?" Mickey asked, instantly regretting it as the words left his mouth. It was too late to take it back now.

"That's sort of personal," Ian responded with skepticism in his voice, exhaling the smoke and handing the cigarette back to Mickey. "What do you see in that Russian chick?"

"That _Russian chick_ isn't my girlfriend."

"But she calls you _daddy?"_ Ian snickered. 

"I said she's not my fuckin' girlfriend," Mickey snapped, tossing the cigarette out the window. 

The words punched through Ian, boiling his blood. He finally had enough, inhaling before inevitably exploding. "Look, I don't know who pissed in your cheerios, but you really don't need to take it out on me."

"Stop being so sensitive, Gallagher," Mickey retorted.

"No, you treat to me like you couldn't give a fuck if I'm breathing or not, you talk to me like a piece of shit all the time. I'm sick of it. I'm sick of Rod never calling just to tell me he's alright, I'm sick of you all bossing me around and I'm sick of you being a major douchebag to me every fucking day."

"Jesus," Mickey chuckled darkly.

"What? You expect me to just sit here and take it?"

"Alright, Princess Diana, I promise I'll be nicer to you."

"And that's another thing! The name calling needs to stop."

The brunet raised an eyebrow, keeping his focus on the road, "fuck, how does Rod keep up with your many demands? I assume you're a bossy bottom."

Ian crossed his arms and stared out the window. "Not even close."

Mickey shook his head in amusement, biting the inside of his cheek as he tried to suppress his thoughts knowing that Ian was not a bottom. Instead, he decided to maintain his harsher approach to keep the redhead uninterested, wishing he could do the complete opposite.

"How 'bout we just don't talk for the rest of the ride, okay?"

"Fine by me," Ian retorted, keeping his gaze out the window, internally struggling with a plan to break down Mickey's walls that were up higher than the Empire State building.

As Mickey reached for another cigarette, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. Narrowing his eyes in contemplation as he felt the continual vibration, trying to decide if he should answer it or not, the brunet sighed and placed the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"We have problem," Svetlana responded frantically.

"What's going on?" Mickey asked, his tone alarming Ian, causing the redhead to move his focus to the latter.

"Big scary foreign man just come in here. He say he looks for you, then took one of our girls."

"What? What do you mean he took one of the girls?"

Ian began to feel anxious as he watched Mickey's face turn white as a ghost.

"He put potato sack over her head and had one of his other men grab her. I don't know where he took her."

"Fuck. Are you okay? Is Mandy there?"

"Yes, we are both okay. Tony and Jamie are almost here."

"Alright, I'll be there in ten minutes. Don't go anywhere, and be careful," Mickey warned, feeling uneasy as he disconnected the call.

"What's happening?" Ian asked.

Mickey ignored him, shifting gears and taking off to head toward the freeway. Ian gripped underneath his seat as he felt the speed rapidly increase. He quickly buckled his seat belt, glancing over at Mickey who stared intently at the road.

"I hope you don't have anywhere to be right now, Gallagher."

"What do you mean?" Ian pressed, "where are we going?"

"You're about to meet my Russian girlfriend."


	9. *Not An Update*

Hi all! I wanted to let you know that I will be taking a small hiatus from writing, until after February. If you are in the midst of reading this fic, don't fret as I will **not** be abandoning! I need to take some personal time, and I appreciate all of the great comments and feedback you have provided me thus far. Thank you for taking the time to read this, and feel free to bookmark as you will likely not see another update until after February. 

Thank you for your patience and understanding. xo

 

P.s. When I do end up updating again, I will delete this "chapter".


	10. Don't Make Me Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised.. We are now entering February. xoxo

Ian swiftly unbuckled his seat belt and followed Mickey toward the backside of a rundown brick building. As they entered, they saw it was apparent that chaos had broken loose. There were a few scantily clad women screaming in Russian at Mickey's brothers, who clearly had no idea how to handle the situation, all surrounding one strikingly beautiful brunette woman with makeup heavily caked on. Ian raised his eyebrows when the woman narrowed her frosty blue eyes at him before uttering what Ian could only guess was an insult, in Russian, under her breath. She moved her intense glare to Mickey and began scolding him in Russian.

"What the fuck happened?" Mickey asked, frantically looking around the room, "where's Mandy?"

"She just left with Ig and Joey. They took her home," Tony answered while attempting to comfort one of the disgruntled girls. 

"I tell you over phone! Big foreign guy come in -" 

"Was he French? Did he give a name?" Mickey interrupted Svetlana.

"Yes, he said his name is Luke. He took Sophie and told us she is trade for your _"friend","_ Svetlana explained before narrowing her eyes at Ian once more, "is this orange boy your _friend_ Frenchie speaks of?"

Mickey laughed sardonically, "not quite. Frenchie is after a mutual friend of mine and firecrotch's here."

"We give orange boy to him now instead," Svetlana pressed, taking a threatening step forward and continuing to glare at Ian.

"Hey, simmer down, Putin. No need to rush into a negotiation just yet. He's not entirely the problem," Mickey said as he shot a quick glance to Ian.

"Not _entirely_ the problem? Unbelievable," Ian guffawed.

"Relax, Gallagher. We've got bigger problems to deal with than your ego deflation," Mickey retorted, immediately pulling out his phone and ignoring Ian's harsh glare and sigh. "I'm calling Luke now to see what we need to do in order to get Sophie back."

"I'd hurry," Jamie urged before crossing his arms, "he didn't seem like he was fucking around, Mick." 

Mickey nodded, clearly understanding the urgency, and dialed the French man's number. He immediately pressed the phone against his ear, the phone only ringing once before Luke answered abruptly. 

"Good choice. You giving me Roderick's location?" Luke asked.

"Would if I had it," Mickey answered, "but I don't, and you know that already."

"Do I?" Luke challenged him, "you certain of that?"

"Pretty fuckin' certain," Mickey retorted.

"Put me on speakerphone."

Mickey obliged and crossed his arms, taking a quick glance at everyone around the room. Tony and Jamie stood still, staring intently at the phone in their brother's hand while Ian and Svetlana were having their own stare-off with one another. Svetlana was blatantly winning.

The call was silent for a long moment until a sudden scream startled them, Mickey instantly swallowing hard as he heard someone cock their gun on the other end. 

"Five," Luke began.

"Five?" Tony furrowed his brow, Ian's eyes suddenly widening as he could guess what was happening.

"Four," Luke continued. 

"He's going to kill her!" Svetlana yelled as realization struck.

"Trois." 

"Fuck. What the fuck do we do?" Mickey panicked.

"Deux."

"Mickey, tell him where Rod is!" Jamie urged.

"I don't know where the fuck he is!"

"...One."

"Please," Sophie's voice cracked through her sobbing on the call. "Don't... "

Everyone in the room suddenly jumped at the sound of two gunshots silencing the Russian woman's crying on the other end. Svetlana covered her mouth as tears streamed down her cheeks, the other girls rushing to her side and embracing one another for comfort.

"That poor girl's blood is now on your hands. You made this choice. And that's only the beginning, Mickey. Next time it will be someone even closer to you."

Mickey remained silent, in a small state of shock. Ian took a step closer to him, though the brunet didn't push him away. In fact, he didn't move at all as he stood as still as a statue.

"You have twenty-four hours to give me that location," Luke threatened before abruptly hanging up the phone.

"Mickey..." Ian barely uttered under his breath.

The brunet slowly looked up at him with dead-looking eyes, horrified at what had just happened. 

"Mick, where the fuck is he?" Tony asked.

"I don't know," Mickey muttered, "I honestly don't know. He's been running all over the place lately. I don't even know if he's in the country right now..."

"Wait," Ian furrowed his brow, "I thought he's been calling you for updates and to check in on me?"

Mickey moved his gaze to the floor, a look of guilt waving over him. "I spoke to him this morning and a couple times last week, but I may have missed a few calls from him..."

"You also may have missed the part where you ask where the fuck he is!" Jamie snapped, taking a step closer to his younger brother.

"We kill him for killing Sophie!" Svetlana cried out, also lunging toward Mickey. 

"Hey!" Mickey yelled, pulling out his gun, causing Jamie and Svetlana to freeze in place. "That's not my job!"

"You let Sophie die," Svetlana accused the brunet, "you failed your job at keeping her safe!"

"Christ. Let me tell you something, so you understand clearly what I am and am not responsible for," Mickey ran an anxious hand through his black hair and put the gun back into his shoulder holster.

"I'm not a fucking criminal mastermind who hides clients out in East Bumfuck, who are running from God only knows what kind of dude this Luke guy is for God only knows why. I don't babysit; _especially_ their side pieces, like Little Red Riding Hood over here. And I definitely don't do anything that results in some sort of assasination," he said, narrowing his eyes at Svetlana. "My job is to..."

Jamie and Tony sighed, but nodded with understanding of their brother's point. Svetlana huffed, dropping to her knees and began sobbing as the girls continued to comfort her.

"Your job is to what?"

Everyone looked at Ian, not expecting him to ask questions.

"Wouldn't you like to know," Jamie snarled.

"Jesus, I'm not allowed to ask questions even though I got dragged into this shit?" Ian spat.

"No, you're not allowed to ask questions; _especially_ ones that are none of your fucking business," Mickey stated bluntly. 

"Are you fucking serious right now? I've had to put up with your bullshit for weeks now, and I still can't know what you actually do?" Ian pressed.

"Oh my fucking - _my_ bullshit?" Mickey laughed.

"Yes, Mickey. _Your_ bullshit."

"That's really fuckin' cute, Gallagher. 'Cause you haven't been a pain in my fucking ass for the past few weeks or anything."

"Maybe I wouldn't be such a pain if you didn't treat me like a piece of trash!"

"Well maybe you should open your fucking doe-eyed peepers and see that you got your own self dragged into this mess, and try taking some goddamned responsibility for your actions for once!"

"How did I get myself into this? You're the one who brought me here!"

"You're the one who's fucking a lowlife, _married_ with kids, piece of shit. You literally involved yourself. But those are the type of men you always involve yourself with, so no hard feelings, right? Shall we go on?"

"Always? You don't know a single fucking thing about me," Ian snipped.

"I know enough."

"What, are you stalking me? Is that your job; to follow people around like a fucking weirdo?"

"Enough!" Jamie finally interrupted the bickering. "We can play sappy soap opera some other time, but here's what's going to happen. Mick, you're going to call Rod and tell him what the fuck is going on. Then, you're going to get him here, and I'm going to personally hand deliver him to that French psychopath before he gets to one of us."

"No!" Ian objected, "Luke will kill him!"

"That's sort of the point," Tony chimed in.

"Call him, Mickey," Jamie pressed.

"Please," Ian begged, "there's gotta be another way. Literally any other way."

Mickey bit down on the inside of his cheek, contemplation waving over him as he wanted so badly to call Rod and hand him over, but he didn't want to upset Ian even further.

"Mickey," Svetlana mumbled, "please call. I need justice for Sophie."

Mickey sighed, finally giving in and reaching for his phone to dial the number.

"Unbelievable. You truly are a horrible human," Ian muttered under his breath before dramatically pushing past the brunet to sit down behind him in the corner of the room. 

Mickey felt the words barrel into him like a car crash, but couldn't do anything about it right now as it wasn't the time to have a love connection with his client's boyfriend. However, his lack of better judgment suddenly got the best of him when he pretended to dial the number and pressed the phone up to his ear.

"Rod, Luke is looking for you. He just took one of my girls from my... _side business_ I've told you about."

Mickey nodded, pretending to hear someone on the other end as all eyes in the room were glued to him. He said a couple of "yups" and "mhms" before continuing. "I'm sorry, but I need to know where you are. I need your location."

Everyone suddenly moved their attention to Jamie as he clicked his tongue and shook his head in disapproval. 

"Cut the shit, Mickey," Jamie guffawed. "I know he's not actually on the phone."

Mickey swallowed hard, "would you shut the fuck up? He's telling me his location right now."

"Put him on speaker then," Jamie raised an eyebrow. Ian furrowed his brow as he stared at the back of Mickey's head, wondering why he wasn't actually calling Rod.

Mickey stood still, keeping the phone up to his ear as he continued to stare at his brother.

"That's what I thought. You'd never say something robotic-sounding like 'I'm sorry, but I need your location' and shit like that." 

"Plus, you wouldn't ever tell him about the Rub N' Tug business," Tony added matter-of-factly, immediately earning glares from both of his brothers as Ian's eyes widened for a moment, though, he wasn't entirely surprised per the atmosphere and feel of the building as well as the looks of the girls.

"For fuck's sakes," Mickey sighed, shooting a quick glance over to Ian. "Look, I can't call him now. It would be too obvious, and we'd probably make him hide from us, too. We can't just be like 'oh hey, this is super random but where are you? No reason or anything, just would love to know your coordinates. All is copacetic and shit'."

"He has a point, Jame," Tony agreed.

Jamie stared at Mickey for a long moment before shooting a quick glance over to Ian, then back to his brother. He suddenly shook his head in aggravation and closed his eyes.

"What?" Tony asked Jamie quietly.

"We'll talk about it in the car," Jamie said, inhaling and exhaling heavily before shooting one last quick glance at Mickey. "I'm calling Ig to bring Ian home. Mick, you're coming with me and T."

"No, I'll bring him home and meet you guys back at the place," Mickey said, his voice _almost_ quivering as Jamie's demeanor started to slightly intimadate him. Almost.

Jamie raised an eyebrow before reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. "You sure that's a good idea?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Mickey asked.

"I think you know why."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mickey retorted.

"It means don't be a fucking idiot, okay?" Jamie took a drag and exhaled a cloud of smoke into the air.

Ian furrowed his brow as he watched Mickey and his brothers going back and forth, feeling the tension growing stronger by the second. His attention was soon grabbed by Svetlana and her girls walking toward the back exit of the building, but the Milkovich brothers were too focused on their quarreling to notice. 

"How would I be a fucking idiot?" Mickey snapped, taking a step toward his brother.

"Don't think I didn't notice the way you look at him."

Mickey's eyes widened in anger, feeling his cheeks turn a shade of crimson. "The fuck did you just say to me?"

"You heard me," Jamie pressed, exhaling more smoke. "I'm not as daft as our brothers seem to be."

Tony narrowed his eyes and held up his middle finger as Mickey glared at Jamie. Taking a deep breath first, Tony took a step forward to stand in between his brothers. "Guys, can we do this later? We should really get outta here. It's getting dark out and this place gives me the creeps at night."

"Oh, it's a date. I'll be home soon," Mickey muttered sarcastically before spinning around to look at Ian. "Let's go, princess."

Ian rolled his eyes as he stood up, feeling Jamie's eyes burning into him while he followed Mickey out of the building. As he made his way to the exit, he glanced over his shoulder one last time to see Jamie scrutinizing him. The redhead quickly brushed it off and made his way to Mickey's Camaro.

* * *

The awkward car ride in complete silence soon ended once Mickey pulled up to Ian's appartment building, cutting the engine but leaving on the radio that faintly played in the background. Ian side-eyed Mickey, noticing a small smile creeping up on his full lips. There were a million things Ian wanted to say; instead he remained silent and carefully stole glances of the brunet.

"Love this song," Mickey softly said, breaking the silence. Ian moved his gaze directly to the latter, taken back by Mickey's attempt at normal human interaction.

"Uh, yeah. It's in that movie with Shia LaBeouf, I think," Ian stumbled on his words as he tried to compose himself, finding his heart beating out of his chest. Even though Mickey hadn't been in the greatest mood over the course of the last few weeks, Ian still felt compelled to break down his walls. With that, he cleared his throat and continued.

"You know, the one where he gets put on house arrest and watches his neighbors, then finds out another neighbor is some sort of serial killer?"

"Disturbia," Mickey chuckled, "one of my favorites."

"Me too," Ian smiled genuinely, listening to the song, _Don't Make Me Wait_ by This World Fair continuing to play. The redhead shook his head in amusement, drawing Mickey's attention.

"What?" Mickey asked defensively.

"Nothing," Ian chuckled. "I just didn't expect you to be into this kind of music."

"People can surprise you," Mickey retorted under his breath.

Ian shook his head before adjusting in his seat. He chewed on the inside of his lip before growing the courage to continue the conversation.

"You okay?"

"Yeah," Mickey answered quietly, "not the first time I've been around death."

Ian stared blankly at Mickey, desperately wanting to tell him that he knows the exact feeling, unfortunately. Instead, he moved his gaze to the floor of the car, not wanting to push him any further out of his comfort zone.

"Ever wonder what it would be like to be in a situation like that?" Mickey asked.

"Like what?"

"Like in a movie or something."

Ian slightly furrowed his brow, "no, actually. Have you?"

"My life's practically one giant Disturbia. Well, disturb-side, since I live in the South Side and not in the suburbs," Mickey chuckled.

"Can I ask you something?" Ian asked.

The brunet turned his head and looked at Ian incredulously before nodding at his own risk. "Shoot."

"Why haven't you been keeping in touch with Rod?"

Mickey moved his gaze straight ahead, inhaling and exhaling heavily. He reached for a cigarette and rolled down the window to exhale the smoke.

"What was up with Jamie?" Ian continued to probe.

"You said _a_ question, not Twenty fuckin' Questions."

"Fine," Ian sighed, "I want an answer to my first question."

Ian's eyes met Mickey's, feeling electricity coursing through his veins. Feeling right in the moment, Ian slowly moved closer to Mickey, though, Mickey abruptly pulled away and moved his gaze out the window.

Ian sighed under his breath and crossed his arms, feeling defeated as he thought he was close to breaking down Mickey's walls.

"So, you gonna give me that answer?"

"Still trying to figure it out," Mickey muttered before clearing his throat. "You better head inside. It's getting late, and I need to get home to my brothers so I can get interrogated."

Ian raised an eyebrow, "what exactly do they think is going on that would require an interrogation?"

Mickey narrowed his eyes at the redhead before moving his gaze to the window. "Not sure if you want him to know how well you're doing without him."

"What?" Ian asked in confusion. 

"The answer to your question."

Ian paused, staring at Mickey for a few moments before smiling softly and nodding.

"See you tomorrow?"

"Is that really a question, Gallagher?" Mickey teased.

"I know. I look forward to being babysat tomorrow," Ian smirked before exiting the Camaro and walking toward his building.

Mickey felt his heart flutter as he watched Ian disappear into the building, finally accepting the fact that he was now totally fucked.


	11. Altercations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. This story is not abandoned, I promise. There's still so much story left to tell. xo
> 
> P.S.   
> Angst may be starting, however I assure you that there will be a happy ending for our boys!

Ian practically floated up the stairs to his apartment, passing cloud nine on his way up. Once inside, he rushed over to the window in his bedroom and peeked through the curtain to catch one final glimpse of the black Camaro peeling out of the parking lot. He sighed with satisfaction before falling backwards onto his bed, finding himself unable to stop smiling.

His phone buzzed in his pocket, prompting him to immediately answer with a much more uplifting "hello" than usual.

"Um, did I call the right Ian Gallagher?" Sam asked incredulously on the other end.

Ian bit his lip and felt his cheeks turn a shade of crimson before clearing his throat. "What's up?" 

"I think I should be asking you the same thing," she chuckled.

"Oh, it's... Wait. Why are you calling me this late on a weekday? And why am I answering? Why am I even awake right now?"

"Jesus, Gallagher. You get laid or something?"

"No," Ian answered promptly followed by a long awkward silence.

"Okay then," Sam sniffed. "Anyway, I'm calling because I saw this super gorgeous girl at the bank this afternoon. Said she knew you, so I was curious to know if she's available or, like, what her story is."

"Or if you could maybe insert yourself into her story?" Ian teased.

As Sam nervously laughed, Ian smiled to himself, still riding high on cloud nine. Sam abruptly cleared her throat and answered with an obvious, "duh."

"What's her name?" Ian asked.

"Mandy Milkovich. She came in this afternoon to open a new account for some sketch ball type of business; but holy fuck, was she perfect. I kinda got vibes that she _might_ be interested, but you never know with my luck."

Ian's eyes widened. "Milkovich?"

"Yeah, pretty sure. Her eyes -"

"Sam, I gotta go. I'll call you back later."

"The fuck?" Sam asked incredulously. "Seriously, what's up with you tonight?"

Ian swallowed hard, "I, uh... really don't feel well."

"Why're you acting so cagey? Just remember that I can see right through your soul-less, ginger little lies."

Ian contemplated confirming Sam's previous implications of his feelings for Mickey, but instead he stalled.

"I think I'm getting a call on the other line."

"At two in the morning?"

Ian practically felt the skepticism behind her voice punching him square in the face.

Sam huffed, "is she bad news or something?"

_Fuck,_ Ian thought to himself before answering. "No."

"So... do you know her or not?"

"Yes."

"No shit! How do you know her?"

"How do I know her..." Ian iterated under his breath, "she's sort of... she's, well... she's Mickey's sister."

"Shut up!" Sam exclaimed. "Shut the fuck up!"

Ian bit his lip while Sam continued to ramble.

"You going to give me details or nah?" Sam asked after finally composing herself.

"I honestly don't know if she's single or what her story is," Ian answered, holding the palm of his hand against his forehead and pressing down hard, "I barely know her."

"Could you ask Mickey for me?"

"Absolutely not. No fucking way," Ian snapped.

"Whyyyyyyy?" Sam whined.

Interrupting their conversation, Ian was truly receiving another call, the beep on the other line providing him with instant relief; until he read the caller ID.

"Fucking A," Ian muttered under his breath. 

"What?" Sam asked.

"I do actually have someone calling on the other line."

Sam paused for a moment, hearing the urgency and sudden shift of tone in her friend's voice. "Is everything okay?"

"Yeah, I'll call you later."

Ian quickly accepted the incoming call and answered with an unsure-sounding 'hello'.

"I already know who you are. Do you know who I am?" A voice with a thick French accent asked.

"Yes."

"Do you know why I'm calling?"

Ian paused before closing his eyes and answering. "Yes."

"Where is he?"

Ian got up out of his bed and shuffled over to the window, paranoia beginning to set in as he peeked through the curtain only to find an empty parking lot.

"Mickey told you everything already. I promise I don't know where he is," Ian answered, his voice shaking as each word made its way past his lips.

Luke clicked his tongue before taking a sip of his drink and sighing with apparent dissatisfaction. "This signature roast coffee is disgusting. Who the fuck signed for this shit to make it a signature flavor? Not the French; that's for certain."

Ian furrowed his brow and cleared his throat as he moved away from the window. 

"American coffee is watered down. In France, it is strong and made to satisfy. Do you agree?"

"I don't really-"

"You have twenty-four hours to find him, like I told your friend earlier. If you do not find him, I will take you. Don't forget, I know who you are and how to easily find you. Do you understand?"

Ian stared blankly at the wall, feeling his body begin to shut down in fear. He remained still, feeling warmth slowly escaping from his body. 

"Do you understand?" Luke pressed with intimidation.

"Yes."

"Bonne chance," Luke said before disconnecting from the call.

Ian remained frozen, leaving the phone pressed against his ear as his pupils dilated in response to his frightening phone call. He suddenly couldn't hear anything other than a loud ringing that began to sound off in his ears. It felt like time was standing still and that he was stuck in some sort of fucked up time warp.

Once he came to, he instantly dialed Rod's number, unsure if the man would answer or not as he had been using burner phones. It was worth a shot, though. 

To Ian's complete and utter surprise, Rod answered on the second ring.

"Ian, please tell me you're okay."

"What the actual fuck is going on!"

"Baby, I know you're pissed. Let me expain."

Ian clicked his tongue and guffawed, "what the fuck did you do? Why is this French guy after you? Where the fuck are you?"

"I can't tell you."

"Can't tell me what? Where you are? Or why you fucked with the wrong foreign guy?"

"Listen, I've got about thirty seconds left. After that, I'm going to have to hang up and destroy this phone. I need you to stay with Mickey and be discreet. No public appearances whatsoever, no working and no school. You _must_ lay low or else he will find you."

Ian paused for a long moment before swallowing hard, feeling his heart sinking faster than the Titanic, "and what happens if he finds me?"

Rod's silence was a clear inference, but Ian probed further after mustering up every last ounce of fight left within himself, "What kind of danger have you put me in, Rod?"

"Ian, I've gotta go. Just please promise me you'll stay with Mickey and try to be safe. Please."

"When will I get to talk to you again?"

"I'll call you when I reach the checkpoint. Be safe," Rod warned before ending the call.

Ian felt sweat beading down his forehead. He stood completely still for only a short moment before registering the fact that it was imperative to get moving, nearly stumbling over his own feet running to his closet and beginning to pack a bag to prepare for his hiatus.

* * *

"You're crossing into some deep waters here, Mick," Jamie sighed.

"He's right. You've gotta start thinking about this shit," Tony agreed.

"I'm not crossing into anything. And fuck you, Tony. I do enough thinking for the both of us ninety percent of the fuckin' time," Mickey spat, wiping down the bumper of his car while his brothers were searching for additional weapons in the garage. 

"Just be straight with me, Mick," Jamie began, reaching into the cabinet to grab a glock, "did you catch feelings for the kid?"

Mickey's muscles stiffened for a brief moment before sniffing outloud, facing away from his brothers as he stared down at his reflection off of his perfectly shined Camaro. He was thankful that he wasn't facing them, vulnerability crystal clear on his face. 

He was searching hastily for the correct words to say. Mickey so badly wanted to tell them truth. He wanted to confirm and say that he has feelings for his client's boyfriend; that he can't remember the last time he felt free to be himself around another human, or that he hadn't ever felt anything like this in his whole life. He felt alive for the very first time.

Instead he turned around with a cold expression on his face, feeling the possibility of life escaping right from the palms of his hands, "fuck no. I just felt bad that he's so infatuated by that scumbag, lowlife piece of shit."

Jamie raised an eyebrow with apparent skepticism, "you sure about that?"

Mickey rolled his eyes before strutting toward the cabinet, reaching for a glock and cocking it, "yup."

Jamie shot a glance to Tony and slightly nodded, Tony following suit, almost as if they were having some sort of a sibling telepathy experience. Mickey narrowed his eyes before heading toward his car.

"Prove it."

"What?" Mickey asked.

"I said, prove it," Jamie pressed as he stared at Mickey.

Mickey narrowed his eyes before shaking his head, "yeah? And how'd you like me to do that, Detective Fuckhead?"

"Create a diversion," Jamie simply said, shrugging his shoulders as if it were nothing. 

Mickey stared into his brother's eyes, failing miserably at reading him. "What kind of diversion?"

"Fucking divert Frenchie from us. Lead him to the kid; he's a more essential piece to the puzzle of finding Rod's whereabouts than we are. And like Frenchie said, one of us will be next if we don't tell him where Rod is."

Mickey felt like he had been shot in the heart, wanting to drop to the ground and die. 

"You sure you didn't catch any feelings?" Jamie challenged, Mickey reading between the lines and comprehending the subtle sarcasm in his brother's tone.

"No," Mickey gritted through his teeth, holding in his fury.

Tony closed his eyes, struggling with himself after his guilty conscience suddenly kicked in. 

"Jame, I really don't think this is such a good idea anymore," Tony chimed in, both heated Milkovich brothers turning in his direction. 

"You softening up on me?" Jamie asked sounding baffled.

"No," Tony retorted, "it just doesn't seem like it's really gonna benefit us as much as we thought. As you just said it out loud, it occurred to me that maybe this guy doesn't care. Maybe he's just a sick fuck and doesn't care how long it takes to find Rod before starting to pick us off one-by-one. Maybe his plan is to kill us all either way because we know too much. If that's the case, higher numbers are key."

"And maybe you're overthinking like you always do," Jamie responded with annoyance in his voice. "As far as I'm concerned, it's us or them. We stick together and fight for our own. That's always been our way; it's in our DNA."

"And handing over another innocent person to basically guarantee he'll be killed is our way, too?" Mickey shot back, his facing starting to turn bright red.

"If it means we'll be safe, then yes."

"Jame, this just seems wrong..." Tony interjected.

"It's fucking nuts! I'm not fucking doing that!"

"Then fuckin' admit you caught feelings for him!" Jamie raised his voice, stepping toward Mickey. 

"I don't having fucking feelings for him. I'm just not going to have his blood on my hands. The fuck's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" Jamie bellowed. "What's wrong with _you?_ All of a sudden you're feeling some type of way, and for what? A kid? A kid who clearly doesn't have his shit together, so he's looking to mooch off of stupid rich motherfuckers like the conniving little parasite he his."

Mickey bit down on his tongue, feeling his patience quickly diminishing as Jamie took another step closer. 

"You really think you like him? He's using Rod for his money; but you have nothing to offer him. So, what would he want from you? What could possibly keep him around?"

"Enough," Mickey muttered under his breath, voice shakey from raging anger. 

"What could he possibly want from you? Your money? Then what? He's just going to leave you and suck the life out of some other naive fuck and repeat the same pattern. He's a piece of shit, Mick."

"Watch your fuckin' mouth," Mickey threatened, finally reaching his breaking point as he held up his index finger and felt the veins in his neck begin to throb. He puffed his chest to Jamie's; both men now nearly nose-to-nose.

Tony inserted himself between the two, yelling out to Iggy for help. Iggy and Joey immediately appeared in the doorway and stopped to watch the heated altercation. 

"Or what? What are you going to do, Mick?" Jamie challenged.

"Fuck you," Mickey retorted before spinning around and heading toward his car.

"Good one. You always were great at following through," Jamie spat, sarcasm pouring out of him. "Just leave and don't come back. Especially not if you choose Ian over us."

"Mickey, wait," Tony said.

"Fuck you, too, Tone. You were in on this all along. Don't think I didn't notice that."

Tony moved his gaze to the floor, feeling guilty and defeated. 

"Mickey, I'm warning you. If you leave right now, you can _never_ come back," Jamie warned.

A gasp from the doorway startled the brothers, everyone moving their attention to the doorway.

"You can't just kick him out," Mandy cried, "if he goes, so do I."

"Go back to bed, Mandy," Jamie ordered. 

"Fuck you! You're seriously trying to kick out your own brother over something so fucking stupid?"

"I said, go back to bed."

Mandy shook her head in disbelief, pushing directly into Jamie and walking past him to stand beside Mickey.

"Please, Mickey. Don't leave," Mandy begged.

Mickey stared into his sister's broken eyes, the pain transferring from hers into his own. He closed his eyes before taking a deep breath and getting into his car without saying another word.

"Please," Mandy cried, her words barely audible, "don't leave me."

Mickey glanced at her through his windshield, mouthing the words, "I'm sorry," before starting his car and peeling out of the garage and into the night.

All of the Milkoviches held their gaze to the direction in which their brother headed, Mandy dropping to her knees and sobbing into her hands while her brothers stood completely still in utter disbelief.

* * *

As Mickey came to a hard stop at a stoplight, he quickly pulled out his phone to text two people. One text was to Ian, telling him to pack a bag and to be ready for his arrival. The other text was to Mandy, promising that he would be back for, no matter the circumstances.


End file.
